


To draw on all its omnipotence

by talesofsymphoniac



Category: The Death Gate Cycle - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Complete, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Multi, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unhealthy Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 30,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsymphoniac/pseuds/talesofsymphoniac
Summary: Alfred had been deathly afraid of finding the telltale runes beneath Haplo's bandages. He never would have thought to worry about this.Death Gate Cycle Soulmark AU





	1. Delicate Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impossible.
> 
> This was Alfred’s refrain as he drew each sigil with a stealth he hadn’t known he possessed, watching as his companions fell asleep, one by one.

_Impossible._

This was Alfred’s refrain as he drew each sigil with a stealth he hadn’t known he possessed, watching as his companions fell asleep, one by one.

_It simply isn’t possible._

Limbeck’s eyes drifted closed, his breathing becoming steady.

_I’m merely being anxious, as usual._

Hugh’s pipe slipped from his lips, and he slumped to the side.

_And what will it mean if I’m right?_

Bane made no movement, his sleep all the more sound thanks to Alfred’s spell.

_No, it can’t be. But there’s no harm in making certain, is there?_

He whispered the rune once more, and Haplo, too, fell asleep.

Alfred’s chest felt constricted as he waited for the magic to settle. The only sounds were the slow, rhythmic breaths of the sleeping bodies and, in the distance, the muffled clanking and clattering of the Kicksey-winsey. Although the room was not quiet, there was something daunting about it, something expectant, though perhaps that was just the pounding of Alfred’s own heart.

How much time had passed? Certainly more than enough for the magic to have achieved its effect. If he was really going to do this, now was the time. He crept to his feet, though there was no longer any need for subtlety. Slowly, painstakingly, he made his way to Haplo and his dog, and when he’d reached his destination he dropped to his knees, suddenly drained of strength as he realized again what he was about to do.

With shaking hands, he reached for the man’s right hand and unwound the bandages there. And there were the runes, just as he had known they would be, just as he had denied they would be.

There was no denial in Alfred’s mind, now. There was not much of anything: just a swirling storm of nameless horror. The runes he so feared began to blur from the tears that sprung and threatened to blind him.

It would have been all too easy for Alfred to take Haplo’s left hand instead of his right. It would have been easy for him to rewrap the hand without turning it over, and it would have been easy to miss the coin-sized mark on his palm in haste, his mind too overwhelmed and his eyes too clouded with tears to notice it. And it would have been easy to dismiss the mark without a second thought. It had been so long since Alfred had given any kind of thought to such a mark; it would have been all too easy not to recognize it.

But Alfred’s life, it seemed, was plagued with all sorts of misfortune, and what should have been easy, like walking across a flat surface without falling all over himself, was never so. And in the same way his feet chose their own stumbling paths, Alfred _had_ picked up Haplo’s right hand, and turned it over to replace the bandages as swiftly as he could, and when he saw the mark, he was just distracted enough to wipe his tears away and examine it more closely.

And he recognized it.

Everything froze: every muscle in Alfred’s body was paralyzed, along with the chaotic storm of his thoughts. Even his heart, pounding in his chest, seemed to have given out. He had been deathly afraid of finding the telltale runes beneath the bandages. He never would have thought to worry about this.

 _Impossible,_ his mind echoed uselessly.

Alfred regained the use of his limbs. Gently, he set down Haplo’s hand, and in one deceptively steady movement, he removed the frilled glove on his right hand, staring down at the palm. A shattered, hopeless breath escaped him, a despairing parody of a laugh that caught in his throat as he took the other man’s hand again. It wasn’t long before his eyes were filled with tears again.

A perfect match.

It was blindly that he rewrapped the bandages, shoved his own glove back on, and stumbled to his corner. He felt himself slipping into futile unconsciousness, and he welcomed it.


	2. A Prior State of Existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coren was a young man when he found his first match.

Coren was a young man when he found his first match. He had not known Lya for very long, and the discovery of the matching design on their left ankles was quite a shock for both of them.

Their courtship was very usual for a Sartan man and woman who shared soul marks. They became familiar with each other through stilted conversation, becoming acquainted with each other’s friends and family (though in Coren’s case this was a relatively small task), and a few months later, they were wed.

Coren’s only memories of the ceremony were a heavy haze of anxiety, tempered just slightly by the relief that his bride seemed to share the feeling. She smiled and talked and laughed and danced, as he did also, but there was an uncertain, uneasy atmosphere between them, and Lya spent more of it on the sidelines whispering with Mirian, her childhood friend, than she did with Coren.

The tension wasn’t broken until that night. There they were, alone for what felt like the first time since their marks had been discovered, in a room with a bed on their wedding night, and Coren found himself flailing, unable to sort it out: what was expected of him, what Lya wanted, even what he himself wanted. In a combination of his immense confusion and normal bumbling awkwardness, Coren made a terrible fool of himself.

More of a fool than usual, anyway.

But Lya had only laughed at him. For a moment, Coren wanted nothing more than to disappear, until he realized it was a genuine laugh, a warm laugh.

“Listen,” she’d said with complete confidence and a friendly smile. “There’s no difference between yesterday and today. Not really.” And when Coren understood, the sharp line of his shoulders falling in relief, the two of them drifted off to sleep.

It wasn’t until Lya was his wife that she became his friend. The barrier of societal pressures broken down, conversation grew easier between them. They discovered interests they shared, books they’d both read, and discussion and debate followed naturally. Lya was fiercely intelligent, unapologetically passionate, gifted with words in a way that Coren felt he could never hope to match. Some days it was all he could do just to keep up with her, and he loved every second of it.

“Silver tongue,” he’d call her teasingly.

“More like ‘spitfire,’” she’d reply with a grin and a twinkle in her eye.

Lya’s confidence was almost contagious, sparking something in Coren that he wasn’t sure he’d felt before. Lya seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers, pleased to have someone as interested in hearing her thoughts as he was in speaking his own. They began entertaining visitors on some nights, usually Mirian, but many of Lya’s other friends as well, and before long, Coren found that he had not only Lya, but a whole circle of companions and friends.

When their guests had departed, he and Lya would speak between themselves for a little while longer before making their way to their bedroom, neither wanting anything more than to sleep.

It worked, and it worked because there was no pressure from either of them to make their relationship anything more than it was. Some part of Coren was aware that they were not affectionate in the typical way of a married couple, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, so at ease was he with this way of things. He had a place, he had a home, he had a family and friends that were dear to him, and that was more than enough.

As months turned to years, and their bond grew stronger, they realized they had not only a conversational partner in the other, but a confidante. Lya was a woman of many strong opinions, and once she had come to trust him, she seldom shied from voicing any of them, even her most controversial criticisms of the Arianus Council and its members. Coren listened to her without judgement, even if some of her words left him stunned. He was, by then, used to her fiery nature, even if he himself would never dare say such things about the Sartan who guided them, no matter how long he lived.

Lya encouraged him to speak up, too, helping him sort through his emotions when he was troubled. She had a way of cutting right through his sundry worries and straight to the heart of a problem.

Once, on a quiet night, she looked up from her reading and asked him about his other soul mark, the one on his right palm. He looked up from his book as well, taken aback that she’d brought it up, but he supposed it was probably stranger that she hadn’t asked about it a long time ago. He told her truthfully that he had no idea who it belonged to. She hummed at that. “If you found that person, do you think you’d necessarily love them? In a romantic way?”

Coren frowned. “I suppose not,” he decided. He could admit, after all this time, that despite their closeness, his love for her was more platonic in nature, and he knew the same was true of her feelings for him.

Lya nodded, taking a moment to consider that, almost meditative. “What about the opposite? Do you think it’s possible to love someone that way, even knowing you didn’t share a mark?”

That question surprised him even more than the last. Mensch were known to choose spouses outside their marks, despite the Sartan’s discouragements. Coren had certainly never heard of such a situation working out for the better. A person’s mark was supposed to be the person with whom they shared their deepest emotional bond. Although, considered that way, he supposed the bond didn’t necessarily have to be romantic, as he and Lya had proven remarkably well, and if that was the case then it was only logical that a romantic love might be found with someone else, although…

He thought about it for much longer, voicing his thoughts as they came to him, however confused. Though he rambled and meandered and circled hopelessly, Lya listened to him closely, nodding and humming and voicing no opinion of her own, something that startled Coren more than any line of discussion could have. When he finished, she was silent for a moment.

“I ask you because I… I’ve been thinking about it and I...” she’d hesitated, then, looking him in the eyes, worried about what she would find there.

“Ah,” he’d said, staggered. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“I know nothing can come of it. That’s not why I’m telling you.” She explained to him her struggle, the private war she’d been fighting with herself since her childhood years. “It’s just… it’s been so long. I hate not being able to talk about it, but I can’t… You know what the others would think, and I can’t…”

“You wouldn’t be rejected,” Coren said reflexively, ignoring the niggling feeling in the back of his mind as he said it. “But of course I won’t tell anyone your secrets.”

Lya smiled weakly. “I know you wouldn’t, Coren.”

It was rare to see her teary-eyed, and Coren took her hand. She kept talking, and Coren listened. It was clearly cathartic for her, to let loose the worries that had been plaguing her. When she had finished, they hugged for a long while. She thanked him for listening, and he thanked her for the trust she had placed in him, and then she wished him goodnight, pecking him on the temple on her way to bed: a physical endearment that had taken root between them where more amorous ones had not.

They didn’t speak of marks or loves for a while after that, but that didn’t mean nothing had changed. The next time Mirian visited, she held Lya’s hand as they talked, and Lya smiled radiantly, a light flush on her cheeks, and suddenly Coren knew who Lya had fallen in love with, after all. It was really no wonder she had had such trouble acknowledging it, why she was so terrified to speak about it; even if she and Mirian had shared a mark, the truth of their feelings might still not have been recognized among the Sartan.

Coren supposed he should have been shocked or dismayed. He wasn’t. It didn’t line up with the world as he’d known it, but Lya herself had never quite lined up with the Sartan’s ideal, and she was his family. He was sure that if the others took the time to listen, they would understand as well, but he kept his promise and his silence.

She was happy; now that he knew to look for it, he could see the depth of her love for Mirian, mark or no mark. And because his dearest friend was happy, Coren was happy.

Another year passed, the situation on Arianus worsening, with no word from the Sartan on any other world to be heard. The Arianus Council announced their decision, and for once, Lya did not disagree.

When they were put to sleep under Drevlin, Coren was more than a little frightened. But Lya was by his side, and Mirian was by her side, and their friends surrounded them in every other direction, and so he let himself nod off, assured that when he awoke, he would not be alone.


	3. Limitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred looked down at his books, all the information the Sartan had ever kept on the Patryns. These books he had selected, knowing that in his heart of hearts that no matter how long he dithered over the problem, he would have to make the journey through Death’s Gate himself, in the end.

Centuries later, Alfred wanted nothing more than to forget again. Marks covered in mensch clothes, their names erased from his memory, his own hidden behind a mensch one-- none of it helped when Alfred could still see the mark under those bandages when he closed his eyes, feel the terrifying heat of all Haplo’s unbridled fury focused solely on him.

“Have you found anything?”

Alfred was startled from his memories and from the books laid out in front of him by the woman’s voice. He shook his head, guilty under eyes that shimmered with worry. “There’s plenty of information about Patryns, but none of it is at all recent. I don’t know where he might have taken your son.” It wasn’t a lie. The two of them had searched all across Arianus for any hint of Bane, but there was none to be found. In desperation, Alfred had taken them to the Low Realm, to the Sartan’s old records. But he had known nothing here would help them find Bane.

Iridal frowned, hands nervously playing with her long, beautiful hair. “He’s not here, is he?”

Alfred’s heart ached at the resignation in her voice. “We’ll keep looking, of course. There are many more cities down here--”

Iridal shook her head. “You misunderstand. He is no longer in this world at all. He’s in some other one, the place where the… Patryn… came from.” She hesitated with the unfamiliar word, but looked straight into Alfred’s eyes with much more confidence.

Alfred looked down at his books, all the information the Sartan had ever kept on the Patryns. These books he had selected, knowing in his heart of hearts that no matter how long he dithered over the problem, he would have to make the journey through Death’s Gate himself, in the end.

And he would not be alone.

Iridal’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Am I wrong?”

“I…” Alfred began, avoiding her firm gaze. “I fear you are not,” he admitted.

Iridal nodded, unsurprised. “Then you must venture into this other world and save him!”

Alfred started at her demanding tone. “Me? How could I?”

“You are just as powerful as this Patryn is, perhaps more so!” Iridal insisted, and though her stance was firm, Alfred could see her hands tremble. “I’ve seen what you can do--”

“And I’ve told you, you’re wrong!” Alfred cut her off desperately. “You misinterpreted something you saw in fright! I’m sorry, I--”

Iridal didn’t let him finish. “I know I didn’t!” She looked down at him, shaking hands clenching into determined fists. For a moment he was reminded of another woman who had once stood there: equally afraid, equally resolute. Her eyes seemed to bore into Alfred’s, and she spoke softly but emphatically. “You have power, Alfred, more power than all the mysteriarchs combined! Power to find my son!” She closed her eyes, head bowed weakly, and her last word was no more than a defeated whisper. “Please.”

Iridal was wrong. Alfred was under no illusions that he might win a magical battle between himself and Haplo. He had almost no chance of finding the child, much less returning him to his grieving mother.

But if he didn’t, who would? And wouldn’t it be better to try, to make the inevitable trip through Death’s Gate on his own terms?

Alfred’s decision had been made. Or maybe it had already been made, and it had only taken the pleas of a bereft mother for him to fully accept it.

Either way, it was time for his journey to begin.


	4. The Reading of History

_Soul Marks_ [1]

_Physical Properties:_

  * _Appear at birth on the skin of intelligent beings: Sartan, mensch, and Patryns._


  * _Each mark corresponds to a matching mark on another individual. Most (though not all) cultures interpret matching marks as a sign of a deep and fated emotional connection [2] between the two._


  * _Multiple texts note that matched marks are almost never attached to so-called “familial bonds” (unfortunately only tenuously defined, but generally referring to bonds between siblings, parents and children, extended family, etc), whether biological or adoptive._


  * _It is possible (and even common, among mensch) for individuals to have more than one mark._  
_~ Sartan typically have one mark. I was something of anomaly, having two: Anna’s on my left ankle, and another on the palm of my right hand._


  * _Matching marks are always found in corresponding locations on the body._


  * _Each set of marks has a unique shape. At first glance, they are quite similar to both Patryn and Sartan runes, although neither race has ever been able to fully understand their meaning. They create no unifying “language” the way Sartan and Patryn rune-magic does (at least, not one that has been identified). Whole branches of research were once devoted to interpreting soul marks and their underlying magic, to little avail._


  * _In addition to their unique shapes, marks vary in color, size, and location on the body. The smallest are around the size of the smallest fingernail, the largest about the size of a hand with fingers splayed._



_ Magical Properties:_  
_Despite the failure of Sartan research to adequately explain soul marks, there is without a doubt something magical about them:_

  * _No two sets of matching marks are exactly alike. Examination of many generations of records of marks suggest that no set has ever been replicated, even across generations._


  * _The majority of matches do meet each other and develop a positive emotional connection, regardless of whether or not they are aware of their marks. There are many records of matches meeting and becoming close, only to discover their matching marks after the fact._


  * _Upon death or the death of one’s match, marks “fade.” This term is literal, referring to the mark losing its color and most of its visibility on the skin. Upon the death of one’s match, fading occurs almost instantaneously, accompanied by intense pain in the region of the mark._  
_~ If an individual dies untimely, fading may occur before a match ever meets. Iridal was one such case; she was born with a mark that faded when she was too young to remember. According to her, it was partially the misery of having lost her mark that led her to perceived empathy for Sinistrad, who had been born without any marks._  
_~ Contrary to popular belief, fading only occurs upon the death of one’s match, and there is no corresponding phenomenon associated with life-threatening illness, severe injury, or any condition other than death._  
_~ Although Anna’s mark has faded, I was not awake to feel the physical pain that is supposed to come with the fading._


  * _It is possible to induce fading artificially, although such a procedure inflicts the pain of the fading onto both parties. There is little benefit to such a thing, so this particular practice has been lost to most societies._  
_~ The Kir are an interesting exception. A monastery that worships death itself, their members (and their apprentices) induce fading as a means of detaching themselves from the living and becoming closer to death._


  * _Because so little is known about the precise magical properties of soul marks, they have become the subject of many superstitions and myths, especially among the mensch._  
_~ Spirit readings, a kind of fortune-telling based on the shape, color, and position of soul marks, were somewhat fashionable during my time in King Stephen’s court. These readings are typically focused on the kind of person that bears one’s mark, but often delve into sundry details such as one’s future financial prospects, health, and major life events._



_ Sartan and Patryn:  _

  * _While the Sartan refer to marks as “soul marks,” Patryns are more likely to think of the mark as something closer to the runes already branded onto their skin, calling them “bond runes” (a similar naming convention to the “heart rune” which bears their name, for example)._


  * _Where Sartan typically each have a single mark, it is not uncommon for Patryns to have varying configurations: multiple marks, like mensch, or even no marks at all. Unlike mensch or Sartan, most Patryns do not consider the lack of a mark unfortunate. Quite the opposite, in fact. [3]_


  * _The runes that Patryns ink into their skin cannot be placed over a soul mark. The mark interferes with the rune structure and renders it ineffectual. This limitation likely contributed to the general Patryn indifference toward marks._  
_~ Another indication that whatever magic governs the soul marks is related to the rune magic we use in some capacity._


  * _It is clear that matches are not confined to one species, being most common in mensch societies with positive diplomatic relations between the species. There are some indications (unsubstantiated, may only be legend) that a few mensch may have shared a mark with Patryns or Sartan._  
_~ In regards to matches between Sartan and Patryns: no records found._



 

* * *

[1] A page of Alfred's notes, compiled from the Sartan’s archives in the Low Realm and tucked away between the pages of his notes on Patryns.

[2] Scribbled and messy, as if this section has been crossed out and rewritten multiple times.

[3] Note added in the margins at a later date: _It seems that over the course of many generations in the Labyrinth, soul marks have become almost nonexistent among the Patryns, and those that do manifest are generally expected to fade prematurely._


	5. Only for a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mensch of Pryan were going to be the death of Haplo.

The mensch of Pryan were going to be the death of Haplo. It was nothing but bickering and hysterics with them, not to mention all this hand-wringing over who shared whose mark. He huffed, thinking of Rega and Paithen, glaringly obvious bonds branded right across their foreheads, asking him to officiate their marriage, of all things.

He was seriously starting to regret this. All the talk of bond runes was dredging up memories he had avoided thinking about for years: a woman at his side, as if she had always been there, the matching runes on their left palms an unspoken bond between them.

Unspoken, but hardly unshatterable; she had left, and he had not stopped her. 

She was still alive. He knew this, though he didn’t even want to; her bond rune, like the other two, was still dark, and he had not felt the pain that would have indicated her death. He told himself he would not care if he ever did, just as he would not care to see _any_ of his bonds fade away.

He had no idea about the child. He managed, again, to convince himself this was a good thing.


	6. Ill-Disguised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They met again on Abarrach.

They met again on Abarrach, bombarded with memories that were not their own and the sights and sounds of a strange new world and its people, all so different from anything either of them had ever experienced.

The dog, on Haplo’s orders, kept a careful watch on Alfred as they boarded the boats that would take them to Necropolis. He needn’t have worried, except perhaps for Alfred tripping spectacularly and dying a fiery death; Alfred had already told him, truthfully, that he had no intentions of running away.

Of course, that didn’t mean he quite knew what his intentions _were_. With no chance of locating Bane, he’d had vague notions of exploring Abarrach, learning what had happened to it, and perhaps finding traces of his people. Well, he thought helplessly, watching Jera and Jonathan and Prince Edmund converse, he had certainly managed that, and with all usual haplessness intact.

How he had wished, in those days and months alone in that chamber, for another Sartan, any other Sartan, who could share his loss. And now, here was an entire world of Sartan, and yet Alfred only felt more terror, more grief, and, in a way, even more loneliness than when he’d thought he was the last of his kind.

He watched the newlywed couple, Jonathan and Jera, a happier match not to be found in any of the worlds. He watched Prince Edmund, a leader to his people, resolved to do whatever it took to sustain them. In the depths of Alfred’s despair, it was hard to take any comfort from such small things, but he tried: surely there was still some glimmer of hope for his people.

His gaze drifted to Haplo, listening intently to the conversation of the other three, right hand absentmindedly reaching down to scratch the dog’s head. A glimmer of hope, indeed.

“I must thank you again for all your kindness,” Prince Edmund was saying. “Balthazar, my necromancer, was quite worried about me, you see. I assured him I would be fine, escorted by such sympathetic emissaries.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness,” Jera replied, with the same polite charm Alfred recognized from his days as a chamberlain. “Your necromancer is good to worry for you so.”

The prince nodded. “Yes. A good friend and a good mark.” He clasped the muscle of his left shoulder through his clothing, his expression fond.

Alfred startled, hearing the conversation turn to a subject he was very much keen to avoid. Jera noticed immediately, turning to him with eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“He’s been like a second father to me since I was born,” Edmund continued.

Jonathan smiled. “A good mark, indeed,” he said, taking his wife’s hand. “It’s nice to see some things are universal.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Jera cut in, still focused on Alfred as he struggled to recompose himself. “Are you alright?”

“I—I’m fine, thank you,” he tried, unable to disguise his nervousness.

“It can get quite warm in the steam ships,” Jonathan remarked, tone pleasant. “Perhaps you’d like to remove your gloves for a moment?”

Looking down, Alfred realized that he had indeed been unconsciously picking at the laced fringe of his glove. “N-no, thank you, I’ll keep them on for now,” he said quickly, lowering his arms back to his sides.

He’d had a lot of time to think about _that_ , too, since he’d uncovered Haplo’s mark on Arianus. He felt no closer to coming up with any kind of answer there, either. On Arianus, he had attempted to ignore it, too preoccupied with wondering what he was meant to do now that the Sartan’s old enemy had escaped the Labyrinth at last. Then, he’d thrown himself into research, hoping to find some answer there, to no avail.

Alfred had felt a connection to the Patryn long before he had discovered what he was, before he had known about the mark. Things had only become more muddled with that strange experience travelling through Death’s Gate, vague kinship strengthening into sympathy after what he’d seen in Haplo’s mind. And Alfred was almost certain the mark had nothing to do with that.

But did any of it matter? None of it changed anything, not really. Haplo and his lord were dangerous. Not hours ago, Haplo had admitted his desire to learn and use the secrets of necromancy, and Alfred doubted he’d be able to prevent him, try as he might.  

No, the marks didn’t make a difference, and so the only thing Alfred was certain about was that he didn’t want Haplo learning about them. The man hated him enough as it was: so much so that Alfred wondered if it was possible to have a soul mark based on pure loathing.


	7. The Perception of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He realized it all at once: Haplo is alive.

Alfred could not have predicted this turn of events: killing the undead, Haplo’s capture, and now they were saying Haplo was dead, waiting to be reanimated like the rest of the grotesque corpses on Abarrach. Alfred was shaken, letting Jera and Jonathan lead the way while he asked the same question he’d been asking himself for what seemed like ages: _What do I do now?_

And then the dog arrived, his nose nudging comfortingly against Alfred’s right palm.

He realized it all at once:  _ Haplo is alive. _

The dog did not take kindly to Alfred’s overwhelmed embrace, but they found middle ground in an affectionate pat of the head. In the meantime, Alfred’s mind raced. He should have known immediately, had forgotten all his research for a moment in shock; if Haplo had been dead, he would have felt the pain of it, would have seen his mark fade away to gray. He did not quite understand what had happened other than that Tomas must have been mistaken. Perhaps he had misinterpreted what he saw, perhaps Haplo had decided to play dead for some reason, but Alfred knew with certainty that he could not be dead, not if the dog was still here, not if he hadn’t felt him die.

“Haplo’s not dead! He’s alive!”

His exclamations were met with blank stares and an awkward silence that was broken by the cheerful yipping of the dog. The noises startled the others, and when they looked down, Jera and her husband’s faces lightened in shocked recognition. “How did you do that? Its corpse was destroyed, we saw it!”

Her father frowned, looking quite miffed at these sudden inexplicable outbursts. “What are you talking about, daughter?”

“That dog! It’s the same one that was thrown into the mud pit!”

There followed some bickering about the identity of the dog, until they finally turned to Alfred for an explanation. He felt himself grow flustered, having none to give, but he tried valiantly: “It wasn’t me! It was Haplo’s magic that brought the dog back—“

“But Haplo’s dead,” Jonathan pointed out reasonably, looking to his wife and Tomas for support.

“That’s just what I’m telling you! He can’t be dead or his dog couldn’t have returned, you see? I can’t explain how I know; I have a theory… but the important thing is that it would take more than a spear to kill my… my friend.” Alfred finished awkwardly, unconsciously tugging at his sleeve.

“You do seem very certain,” Jonathan offered amiably, ignoring the glare his father-in-law sent his way. “Perhaps Tomas missed something, after all.” At this, Tomas joined the earl in his dissatisfaction. Jonathan’s thoughtful expression suddenly brightened into innocent curiosity. “Is he your mark, then? Is that how you’re so sure he’s alive?”

Alfred choked, his face rapidly draining color. “My… my mark? Of course it’s not…” Alfred fumbled, unable to tell a convincing lie at the best of times, much less when he was caught so entirely off-guard. “I mean. The dog. It’s just the dog. Nothing else.”

“How perfectly graceless of you, Husband,” Jera chided, but Alfred didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered in his direction.  Jonathan, realizing his rudeness, began to apologize profusely, but Alfred only brushed it off, busy berating himself. He had revealed too much; Jonathan might not think anything of it, but the other three…

“The point is, either he’s alive or he’s not. It doesn’t affect our plans any,” the earl interrupted his son-in-law.

“Right,” Jonathan agreed meekly.

Alfred tried to comfort himself as the tide of the conversation turned back to the details of their coup. Surely the subject wouldn’t arise again, in the midst of all this commotion. He tried his best to believe it; there was nothing else he could do. 


	8. Impressionable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haplo was dying.

Haplo was dying.

Sprawled on the hard prison floor, weak with hunger and thirst and pain, he could barely focus on Kleitus’ voice. Every movement he made and every word he forced was agony. Even the covetous brushes of the dynast’s fingers against his skin were painful, though that might have been brought more by humiliation than any physical sensation.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that he would be worth just as much to the dynast either alive or as a corpse. He had been playing by the wrong rules, still unaccustomed to this world where death meant nothing.

But it was more than that. Whatever his excuses, the simple truth was that he had underestimated his opponent and overestimated his power over the situation. And now he was at this Sartan’s mercy, in every possible kind of pain, and he was going to die for his mistake. He was going to die, and to add insult to injury, his body would be left in the hands of this Sartan bastard, who would use the magic of his own people against them.

Kleitus stood above Haplo, content to watch him die. “Add the power of your magic to ours and we will be invincible, even against your so-called Lord of the Nexus.”

 _No,_ Haplo thought wildly. _Even with our power, your people could never hope to stand against my Lord._ But he didn’t even have the strength to say the words; he felt himself slipping away, heard only a groan escape his lips.

“And then there is your comrade here— the one called Alfred, the one who can kill the dead.”

“Not friend,” Haplo rasped, feeling his lucidity beginning to slip away. He wasn’t sure if he’d closed his eyes, but he could no longer see anything around him. “Enemy.”

Kleitus’ voice rang nastily in his ears. “A man who risks his own life to save yours? No, there is no point in lying to us. We know he is your mark.”

 _What are you talking about?_ Haplo couldn’t speak; he could barely think clearly. He choked, breath forced out of his lungs, his body struggling even to take another breath. Kleitus apparently took this as a reaction to his declaration and continued smugly. “Yes, our spy had his suspicions from the beginning. He became unreasonably nervous when the subject was brought up and denied it, but how else could he have been so certain you were alive? And now? The man knows that you are dying, and believes there might be a chance to save you. Of course, there isn’t, but by the time he realizes that, it will be too late to save either of you.”

Haplo could barely hear the dynast’s parting words. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn't think: the only thing he could feel was the pain, and even that was fading away. Fading away along with his own life.


	9. A Child's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Haplo was born, his parents hadn’t known what to make of him.

When Haplo was born, his parents hadn’t known what to make of him.

The Patryns were well aware of bond runes, the only runes a Patryn could be born with: similar to the runes they tattooed across their bodies but with peculiar properties all their own. 

Bond runes were relatively rare among the Patryns. Not that they minded; life in the Labyrinth wasn’t suited for the types of bonds the runes implied, and many Patryns wouldn’t live long enough to meet a bond mate. Haplo’s mother and father shared a bond, but then they were an unusual case; they had not met many others with such a rune, and more often than not it would be faded and colorless: a sure sign that its match had already died in the Labyrinth.

And then their child was born.

Their son, who was born with not just one rune, which would have been unusual in and of itself, but _three:_ one inscribed on each of his small palms, and one on his back, between his tiny shoulder blades.

And so his parents had given him his fourth rune, the name rune. Haplo: ‘single, alone.’ “That is your name and your destiny,” his father had told him. “Your mother and I won’t be around forever. Given enough time, the Labyrinth will destroy us, and when that happens, you will be alone. You will not be able to depend on others for your survival. You will not be able to depend on your bond mates, if you meet them. You will be strong on your own.”

Haplo took the words to heart, learning his lessons and receiving the sharp disciplinary stings across his palms when he erred. Unlike the runes inked across the rest of his body, the runes there did not protect him from the pain.

Another lesson for him to learn.


	10. Moral Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would things have been any better, if not for the mark?

Coren had spent many months in the Low Realm, in the chamber-turned-mausoleum, watching the cold, still faces in their clear shrouds. A few weeks after waking up, he’d realized that unlike Lya’s mark on his ankle, the mark on his palm had not faded, and he'd scoured the chamber for what felt like the hundredth time, hanging onto one last hope of finding someone else who had survived, after all. There was no one. There never was.

Sometimes, he’d been able to trick himself into thinking he saw movement there, that he was not so alone after all. Other times, he talked to himself, imagining that Lya and the others could hear him and give him the answers he sought: What do I do, now?

What would the others have done? Anyone would have better than him: awkward and nervous, with nothing to him but his name. _And even just thinking of my name makes me nauseous_ , he had thought, somewhat hysterical. _It should have been someone else, anyone besides me._

He’d spent much of his time watching over Lya, wondering what she would have done, if she had woken up alone. Surely she would have had some idea, some scheme. He could almost hear her voice again, hear her speaking as swiftly and as brilliantly as she always had.

But the thought of that voice echoing through these empty halls, of Lya confronted with the harsh reality of these faces, had only made him feel sicker. If only they had woken up together. She could have led the way, and he would have followed, and neither of them would have to be alone. It could have been the two of them, united as they had been before.

Would Lya have wished for that, if she had woken up in his shoes?

 _Of course I would, Coren._ He’d sworn he could hear her voice, matter-of-fact and confident as it had ever been.

He knew the voice was right, just as he knew he shouldn’t be thinking such things, and yet, sitting alone in that empty room, every sound echoing around him hopelessly, it was hard not to. _She was my friend._ He had reminded himself of it, nights spent reading, talking, laughing. _My wife._

 _She wouldn’t have been either of those things if she hadn’t shared my mark, first._ He thought of a young woman, uncertain in her wedding attire, tucked away in a corner with her best friend. How her radiant smile would turn into something much sadder as she sent her love away night after night. Would things have been any better, if not for the mark?

He didn’t know. All he knew was that Lya was dead in front of him and that she had deserved so much more in life than he had been able to give her.

* * *

It was only after a great deal of coercion that Alfred joined Jera, Jonathan, and Tomas on their rescue mission. Although he’d insisted on joining them, as Alfred followed them to the castle, he still wondered if he was really making the right choice. He recalled Bane’s face, small and pale and dying. Was it right to interfere yet again?

His thoughts were still confused: those of threats and burning hatred and the talk of necromancy in the hands of the enemy jumbled with the stolen memories of another person, alone and hurting in his own way, and the dog that hadn’t once left his side.

As if it had heard Alfred’s thoughts, the dog brushed against his leg, letting Alfred pat his head as they walked. It seemed too sick even to stand, much less keep up with the four Sartan. Then again, it was no ordinary dog.

Alfred shook his head, attempting to clear it of doubt. _I’ll try to save Haplo_ , he decided again, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that wondered if he would have made the same choice, if not for the mark.


	11. A Subtler Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haplo was alive, and he was not happy about it.

Haplo was alive, and he was not happy about it.

He and Alfred led their odd comrades through the underground catacombs: a lazar, a corpse, and a quiet, grieving Jonathan, who held his hand over the grayed rune on his collarbone as if it was still burning him, even hours after it had faded.

Haplo loathed their company; he had more than once considered trailing back, leaving them behind to fend for themselves. Alfred had been alarmed at the thought of him leaving for even a moment: “You’d never find the way back to us!” As if he’d want to ever return to this motley crew.

“I’d find a way back,” he said bitterly, realizing again that Alfred and the runes he sang into existence were his best option. Now that he was no longer dying, he had to keep his body away from Kleitus, even if it meant working with his enemy a while longer. “What you mean is that _you’d_ never find the way back. The way back through Death’s Gate.” Beside him, Alfred said nothing, and suddenly, for no particular reason or every reason, he was furious. “That was the only reason you saved my life at all, wasn’t it, Sartan?”

Alfred faltered in his song. “Of course,” he said softly, fidgeting nervously with one ridiculous glove. “Why else?”

“Yeah. Why else?” Haplo faced his eyes forward again, hating the pitiful man next to him who had forced life back into his body when he had been too weak to reject it. He hated everything that had led him to this moment, but most of all, he hated that the words Kleitus had said to him last had been ringing in his mind like a death knell since he’d woken up.

 _We know he is your mark._ It was so absurd Haplo wondered if he’d hallucinated it in his death throes, but even in his most pathetic state, his mind would never invent anything so ludicrous.

No, Kleitus had said that, and Haplo couldn’t fathom why. A ploy meant to stagger him further? Little point to that, seeing as he had already been dying, but then, Kleitus had taken pleasure in tormenting him, so perhaps the idea wasn’t so far off.

More likely that spy of his was just plain incompetent. Alfred had known Haplo was alive because the dog was alive, that was all. _He became unreasonably nervous when the subject was brought up,_ those were Kleitus’ words. Haplo’s mouth twisted into a smirk. The joke was on Kleitus; Haplo had yet to see Alfred anything _but_ unreasonably nervous.

Such thoughts kept him amused, at least until they drifted to anxious hands and impractically adorned gloves. _N-no, thank you, I’ll keep them on for now._

Haplo scowled, shoving the mental image away in disgust. He’d seen Alfred’s rune when they’d gone through Death’s Gate together: despite his attempts to forget the memories that had invaded, he still remembered that woman with the mark on her ankle, dull and gray and lifeless, the mark he knew they’d shared as much as he knew how dearly he had loved her and how alone he was now.

He frowned, and again, Haplo had to discard such intrusive thoughts. The point was, the whole notion was ridiculous, whatever Kleitus’ intentions had been, and every second he spent dwelling on it was a second too many. The poison had clearly left his facilities addled, even with Alfred’s supposed healing. He needed a fully restorative sleep as soon as possible, but for now, the important thing was to put as much ground between them and the dynast as they could.

And while they did that, perhaps the Sartan had actually managed to discover something useful while Haplo had been in prison. “Maybe you saved me because of the prophecy,” he asked abruptly, continuing the conversation after nearly a full minute of silence.

Alfred jumped, stumbling over his own feet until he caught himself on the wall of the catacomb. “What? No! I don’t know anything about the prophecy!”

Glaring at the man, Haplo studied him, looking for any indication that he was lying. “I don’t believe you.”

Beneath his look, Alfred cowered, but his voice was steady when he replied only: “Yes, you do.”

 _Damn you._ As soon as he said it, Haplo knew he was right; with as bad as he was at lying, Haplo would have known immediately if Alfred had been trying to hide it. Annoyance washed over him. “Then you’re an idiot! Why didn’t you ask them? You were with them the whole time, and they’re the ones who said it might be connected to you!”

“That’s exactly why I never asked!” Alfred cried, gesticulating wildly and nearly falling over again.

Haplo growled, fuming and impatient. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Alfred frowned and steadied himself, his demeanor shifting to something more controlled, more serious. He did not look intimidated, or at least no more so than usual; when he spoke, it was with great care. He had evidently given the subject serious thought. “A prophecy dictates that we are destined to do something,” he began slowly. “It doesn’t give us a choice in the matter, and we lose our freedom of will as we act according to the prophecy, whether to fulfill it or to avoid it.” Absentmindedly, he brushed his fingers over his right hand, only to snap his arms back to his sides when he noticed Haplo’s eyes tracking the movement. “Consciously or unconsciously, the prophecy becomes self-fulfilling. That’s the only explanation, unless you believe in a higher power.”

Haplo scoffed, dutifully ignoring the implication—no, there _was_ no implication, he reminded himself harshly, because Kleitus had obviously been mistaken-- of Alfred’s words in connection with that particular nervous gesture.

“Higher power, indeed.”


	12. Infinitesimal Attractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the situation had made Haplo snap too, a little bit.

There was no time to think about marks or prophecies after that. Haplo repaid his life debt in the Chamber of the Damned, visions of the past still swimming in his head, shoved aside but impossible to forget entirely. They struggled on, and Haplo, though he debated striking out on his own more than once, kept finding reasons to stay.

And then Alfred had to go and save his life for the second time . Crossing the fire sea, his blood already boiling with the familiar adrenaline of near-death, and now he owed his life  _ again _ ... 

“I suppose I should thank you,” he started, sneering.

And Alfred, strained from fighting against every instinct that begged him to escape into unconsciousness, finally snapped. Face red, clothes and what little hair remained on his head dishevelled, Alfred-- weak, stumbling Alfred-- yelled, and for a moment the incongruity was enough to make Haplo forget the enemies surrounding them and the scorching lava churning below.

And maybe that was a sign that the situation had made Haplo snap too, a little bit: laughing like that, uncontrollably, until tears pricked at his eyes. Maybe he was just a little bit hysterical when he grinned up at Alfred, when he called him by name without a trace of irony.

But then. Curled up with the dog on the floor of the dragon ship. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be around when I woke up.” His glare meeting shocked blue eyes that softened into something gentle, understanding.

He couldn’t blame hysteria, later, for those words, for he had not said them carelessly. He could justify it other ways, and he did: he was tired and injured and his mind was not clear, he needed to pay Alfred back again for saving his life crossing the fire sea.

He couldn’t blame hysteria for the letter he sent to his lord, either, never lying outright but certainly hiding the full details of what had transpired on Abarrach.

No, those things were his own weakness, his own confusion and doubt. They festered inside him, loud and impossible to ignore.

_ He twisted your mind. Made you see things that were not,  _ Xar told him later, thin fingers sifting through Haplo’s hair.  _ He deceived you while you were weakened-- physically after the poison, mentally after this talk of bonds.  _ Here he paused, voice growing cold.  _ A curiosity, perhaps, but ultimately irrelevant, whether true or false. You have learned that lesson once already, I know.  _ Haplo felt a finger tracing over the lines of his left palm and felt another surge of choking shame. Then, softer:  _ But I understand, my son.  _ Haplo wept, knowing himself to be undeserving of such mercy. 

His punishment was pure pain, emotionally and physically draining, leaving him half-dead, aching and vulnerable. But at least his mind was silent, now, and for that it was almost a pleasure.


	13. Measure of the Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had never been a very convincing speaker, even when he was the only one listening.

“Follow me,” Orla said as the other members of the Council filed out of the chamber. She tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear, revealing the same mark that Alfred had observed on Samah’s temple. “I’ll show you where you can stay.”

She did, and then Orla took it upon herself to help Alfred orient himself on Surunan. Alfred was more than grateful; unlike Samah, there was something about Orla that relaxed him. Even after his outlandish behavior during his hearing with the Council, she was kind to him. It put his mind at ease, or at least it gave him one less thing to worry about.

What had him the most worried was Haplo. He had been too flustered to pay attention to his words during Samah’s interrogation. He wasn’t nearly skilled enough to actually control what his listeners saw through the magic of the Sartan language.

Might his thoughts have flit to a mark hidden under bandages and gloves, or the face of a Patryn as he slept peacefully for the first time Alfred had seen? To the feeling of protectiveness and affection that had almost overwhelmed him, just for a moment, before the dog’s bark could bring him back to his senses: the feeling that had led him to gently smooth a stray lock of hair from Haplo’s face?

But no, Alfred didn't remember his words conjuring anything like that. The marks hadn’t been relevant to his story, anyway; his words were of a man and a dog, his only allies (and, he dared hope, begrudging friends?) on a nightmarish world. Anyway, Alfred would have been questioned much more closely if the Council had seen any of it, so he was probably safe for now. He’d just have to be careful.

This line of thinking filled him with shame. After escaping the threat of Haplo’s lord, after discovering his people after so many years, he should be filled with nothing but joy. He should have opened himself to them entirely, let them accept him as one of their own so he could finally lay his worries aside. And he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Council, he argued against the nagging voice in his head. Only that Samah and the others already thought he was suspicious enough without knowing all that, too, and furthermore, they didn’t understand his experiences yet. No, Alfred would reveal everything in due time, or so he said to himself.

He had never been a very convincing speaker, even when he was the only one listening.


	14. Some Superior Individual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took Haplo a moment to register that Alake had spoken.

With the dog gone and his head clear, Haplo embarked on his mission in the world of Chelestra. He discovered the water that stripped him of his rune magic (though, somewhat infuriatingly, left his bond runes perfectly visible), the mensch children on their suicide mission, and, of course, the dragon-snakes.

Now, he and the children were headed back to their parents, and Haplo’s time was spent considering the resources and information he had at his disposal, determining the best way to proceed.

“You have matching seals.”

“What?” It took Haplo a moment to register that Alake had spoken. She had taken to lingering in the same area of the ship as him, and he had taken to ignoring her to the best of his ability.

She stepped closer, making a vague gesture with her hands. “One on your left palm, one on your right. That’s lucky, you know,” she added with a smile.

“Oh,” Haplo said neutrally. She was talking about his bond runes, then. Well, hopefully the girl would realize that he didn’t have hers and forget whatever crush she was holding on to.

“Have you met them?”

Haplo scowled, not sure if he was more annoyed with the topic or her obvious fishing. “Does it matter?”

Alake looked surprised, even though she had been the one prying into such private subjects. Haplo couldn’t tell if it was childish eagerness or simply that the mensch on Chelestra were more open about such things than any of the other societies he had interacted with before.

Either way, Alake was insistent. “What do you mean?” she exclaimed, brown eyes wide with passion. “Of course it matters! Seals are important! They tell you who you’re closest to, who you’ll love!”

Haplo pursed his lips, struggling not to argue. Lashing out would only hurt him in the long run, however much Alake irritated him. He certainly had not been close to that woman in the Labyrinth, let alone loved her-- whatever he may have thought he felt at the time. And he felt even less for Alfred, damn him, not that the rune on his right hand was his, anyway. No, as for the other two runes, whoever they belonged to, he certainly didn’t care. “I’m not about to let my life be controlled by some birthmark, that’s all.”

Alake raised a hand to her lips, considering his words. “I see! That’s incredibly bold of you!” she said shyly. “So… does that mean you’ve found someone? Someone who _doesn’t_ share your seal?”

Haplo wanted to hit something, seeing her eyes light up with hope. Of course she’d take his words any way she wanted to. “No,” he said firmly. At her expectant look, he sighed. “I haven’t met anyone like that. And I don’t plan to.” He gave her a stern look, hoping she’d get the message.

She didn’t notice, but began prattling instead. “I have three seals, myself. One for Grundle and one for Sabia,” she placed a hand over her heart to signify Grundle, and turning her right leg to show where Sabia’s rune appeared on her calf. Haplo averted his eyes, instinctively uncomfortable with the runes being displayed so shamelessly, and decided that this openness must be a cultural difference, after all. “I haven’t met my third one, yet,” Alake continued, outstretching her left hand, and sure enough, there was another rune on the top of her wrist. “My parents say it’s likely to belong to the man I’ll marry, but…” she hesitated, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, “maybe you’re right. Maybe I should choose for myself.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Haplo said gruffly, eager to end the conversation and failing to recognize Alake’s meaning. She brightened immediately at his words, and Haplo noticed a second too late, rushing to correct himself. “I mean…”

But it was too late; the damage had been done. Alake nodded respectfully, her brown eyes shining with the hope that he’d unintentionally given her. “Maybe,” she said again. Then she smiled. “I have to go now, but please, call me if you need anything.”

She rushed away, almost certainly to find Grundle and tell her about the exciting new development. No doubt the dwarf would be as exasperated as Haplo himself was. Haplo groaned; it was Pryan all over again. He had not signed up to be a part of these adolescent dramatics. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Haplo. "Go explore the mensch worlds," they said. "It'll be fun," they said.


	15. Terror of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orla didn’t know what to make of Alfred.

Orla didn’t know what to make of Alfred. He was a Sartan, but she had never heard of a Sartan so clumsy or uncertain, who had lived with the mensch and even allied himself with a Patryn, for however short a time. Her husband eyed him with suspicion, she knew, but Orla felt only pity for a man who had been alone for so long that he no longer knew what it meant to be with his own kind. She watched Alfred marvel as they rebuilt their community on Surunan. She saw his desire to belong, even as he continued to use his mensch name and wear the mensch clothing that set him apart.

She couldn’t understand why he was so conflicted. She couldn’t understand his doubts about what the Sartan had accomplished. She couldn’t understand why he continued to torment himself with thoughts of her, a woman marked and matched to another man.

No, she didn’t know what to make of Alfred at all, and she didn’t know why she found herself so drawn to him. Alfred’s presence was dissonance in the perfectly harmonic existence of the Sartan. It was like a nagging itch; she half wanted to smooth it away, while at the same time she found herself recklessly intrigued as he spoke of worlds she had never known. He began to voice his doubts, some incomprehensible, others all too familiar: thoughts that she had spent much of her life dutifully tucking away.

It would have been frightening, but Alfred did not frighten her; he seemed just as unsettled by his peculiarities as she was. He sought only to explain himself, as if hoping that if he could only manage to articulate his thoughts, they would begin to make sense again.

She countered his doubts with calm reason, hoping to ease her own uncertainty in the process. In turn, he drew her in with words, gentle enough to make her forget any reticence she should have had about listening. Enough to make her forget the dangers of trying to understand such a mindset.

And then she brought up the Patryns, and she remembered.

Alfred seemed transformed, his rambling words full of a confidence that was not his own, the Sartan language painting devastating pictures in Orla’s mind as he spoke of Patryns and their love. Love that grew, prickly and twisted and fiercely strong, even in the dark depths of the Labyrinth. Life and love, chosen without marks to guide them, born only of loyalty. She saw sacrifice, passion, trust. She recognized the camaraderie between companions, a mother’s instinct to protect her son.

“Some of them even have bond runes.” Alfred lifted his left hand, showing her a mark that wasn’t there. It didn’t matter; she saw it in his words. “She was a Runner, like myself, like my parents…”

Alfred’s eyes glazed, speaking memories that weren’t either of theirs, and in an instant Orla relived someone else’s love: the grim laughter, the battlefield as they saved each other and offered no thanks, for none were expected or required. She watched the woman walk away, both of them too stubborn, too afraid of the depth of their feelings to change their minds, felt the sudden dread that she would never see her again, that she would never meet her child— and the woman, she would give birth alone, struggling to silence her cries of pain lest she and her child perish.

“I never saw her again,” Alfred continued, his voice heavy with regret. “She’s alive; I know all of my bonds are.” She staggered through the Final Gate, leaning against the dog, and she could barely stand, but still she glanced down at her left palm, somehow needing to see it dark against her skin at that moment. She was curled on a hard prison floor, her body in agony, and she could feel her life fading away, her right hand shaking in front of her face. _Not him._ The thought was ridiculous, every cell rebelled against it, and yet...

Alfred’s voice dropped to a growl, full of an anger that didn’t suit him. “I know all of them are, though I don’t even want to, and yet I can’t know what happened to my own child.”

Orla felt the incandescent rage the Patryns held for the Sartan, years of bitter loathing directed at herself. And everything she felt: it was her fault, all of it the Sartan’s fault. She had been complicit in this, she had caused this pain…

“I may never know,” Alfred finished, his voice subdued.

“Stop it!” Orla cried, feeling the loss as if it were her own. In a way, it was.

She felt Alfred’s arms wrapping around her, allowed herself to be comforted. She was shell shocked, trying to understand what she had seen, trying to separate her thoughts from Alfred’s from those memories that were neither of theirs.

Alfred spoke again, and this time, it was soft, uncertain: definitely Alfred. “Orla, what is in the library that Samah doesn’t want anyone to know about?”

Orla panicked, shoving him away, full of guilt again, and anger, and fear, and she left as quickly as she could, needing to be alone and process whatever it was that she had just seen and felt.

Had Alfred done that on purpose, gotten into her head, into her heart, only to ask her about things she could not bear to answer? Was something like that even possible?

She walked swiftly, entering her home. It brought none of the comfort of familiarity; she felt like a stranger wandering around in someone else’s skin.

They had exchanged minds, that was what Alfred had said the first time he talked about the Patryn. Was that what she had seen? Not Alfred’s words, but the Patryn’s. Haplo’s.

One vision in particular refused to leave her mind. She flexed the fingers of her right hand, trying again to banish the frustration, the denial. _Not him._

But it couldn’t mean what she was thinking. No, she was projecting her own feelings onto the memory: the daunting realization that a connection had been formed, the fear of the implications, the haste to bury away every trace of faulty, unwanted attraction.

Blue eyes, full of compassion. Hidden strength shining through when you least expected it.

It had all resonated just a little too strongly.

Her own trembling fingers brushed past her temple, and she nearly choked on the resurgence of guilt.

“Mother, are you feeling well?” It was Ramu, standing in the doorway, every inch the concerned son.

“I need to talk to your father." Orla said it quickly, then bit her lip, suddenly ashamed. But it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. She wouldn't say everything, but she needed _someone_ to help her carry the weight of these revelations, and who else was there but her husband and mark? She reassured herself of this, but somehow, the guilt didn’t lessen any.

 

* * *

Alfred felt Orla wrench herself out of his arms, her face painted with shock and hurt. Without another word, she left, and Alfred did nothing, just watched her go. He wanted to call out to her, to apologize, but more than that, he wanted to sink into the ground and cry out in utter frustration.

What was _wrong_ with him? What had possessed him to say all of those things, memories he certainly hadn’t been aware of til now? He wasn’t even sure he remembered everything he’d said quite clearly. He scowled at the dog, who had drawn him in with hypnotizing eyes, sure that it had been the cause, somehow, but the dog only cocked its head innocently.

Alfred slumped in his seat, miserable. No, he couldn’t blame the dog. He’d been the one to reach out for Orla. And she had pulled closer, for a moment, and she was so kind and lovely, and so warm in his arms, and…

She was married. Samah was the one that shared her mark.

And Alfred loved her so much it ached.

What was _wrong_ with him? Why did he still feel so out-of-place here, among his own people? Why couldn’t he trust them fully? And why, _why_ did _his_ marks have to be so confusing and contradicting and frustrating when they should have been the simplest thing? He glared at the dog again, and then his gaze slipped to his ankle.

This must be how Lya had felt, all those years ago. His frustration ebbed, and suddenly he just missed her fiercely. She would have understood, and maybe now he would truly have been able to understand her.

_Do you think it’s possible to love someone that way, even knowing you didn’t share a mark?_

He had been unable to answer then, rambling himself into knots trying to work it out.

It had been the simplest thing, in the end. _I have my answer now, Lya._

It didn’t make him feel any better.


	16. Power and Circumstance

Haplo was not in a good mood when he stormed into his cabin.

By all accounts, he should have been; his plans were running relatively smoothly, for once. It hadn’t been too difficult to guide the mensch to Surunan. After rescuing their daughters and son, the mensch leaders trusted him almost absolutely. Although they were frustratingly slow in their preparations, Haplo was able to prod them along.

It helped that the mensch children seemed to be on his side, even the real Sabia, relieved as she was to see all three of her marks unharmed. Haplo first saw her when Grundle, Devon, and Alake had arrived back to their families. She had looked worn and haggard, but she had smiled, tears in her eyes, embraced all three of them in turn.

“You look terrible,” Grundle had said briskly, pulling away from the elf.

“I haven’t slept much.” Sabia's voice was soft, and it was too easy to imagine Sabia and everyone around her waiting uneasily for the moment when her runes would fade. Alake and Devon looked down, guilty.

“I told myself I wouldn’t lose hope as long as I knew you were alive.” These whispers, choked with emotion, were not meant for Haplo. “I wanted to… but I didn’t want you to feel it when I…” her voice caught, she couldn’t finish the sentence, but the implications were clear and Haplo watched as each of the children realized yet again the gravity of what they had done.

It was all just as well for Haplo. Sabia was certainly more restrained than any of the other three children, but she was just as committed to the welfare of her people. There was a strength behind her soft-spoken exterior, Haplo recognized, and it was that strength and her influence on her father, more than anything else, that sped the elves along.

Despite a few minor setbacks, his plan had worked, in the end; the proud, arrogant Sartan refused to help even these most peaceful mensch, and from here, conflict was inevitable. Haplo knew he should have been satisfied. 

And yet, as he prepared for his journey to Draknor to consult with the dragon-snakes again, he was decidedly unhappy, and as was becoming usual, it all came back to one particular Sartan. Alfred, who had turned pathetic and crimson upon seeing him, who’d interrupted the meeting with babbling nonsense that shouldn’t have meant anything, who had apparently managed to turn his own dog against him.

He shouldn’t care. Not about the dog, not about Alfred, not about these mensch and their children. He shouldn’t care about anything he’d left behind in the Labyrinth, either: not the woman who had left him first, not the child she had been carrying. He _didn’t_ care, no matter how many memories this place managed to drag up, and that was why he had never considered going back to the Labyrinth. All this he sneered to himself, growing ever more frustrated when he realized he no longer believed his own lies.

But it wouldn’t change anything, he told himself. He would go to Draknor, as he had planned. He didn’t need the dog; if it wanted to be with Alfred, so be it.


	17. Unforgettable Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it was a good thing that Alfred and the dog interrupted his audience at the moment they did.

War between the Sartan and the mensch. The dragon-snakes insisted on it and Haplo protested against it. His reasoning was, as always, perfectly practical, but the faces of four mensch children flashed through his mind as he spoke.

The snake's reply was as simple as it was piercing. “Since when does a Patryn care how mensch live… or how they die?”

Haplo’s blood ran cold, and he wanted to deny it, but he knew that was exactly what the snake expected of him.

Maybe it was a good thing that Alfred and the dog interrupted his audience at the moment they did. He was almost unsurprised; they insisted on invading everywhere else, worming their way in and refusing to leave, so why not here? And, equally expected, upon seeing the snakes all around him, Alfred managed to faint, too. On Haplo’s orders, the dog stood over the Sartan’s unconscious body, clearly and irritatingly protective.

What did alarm him was the snakes’ reaction to the whole thing: alert, staring at his body cautiously. “Why not kill him now?” the leader goaded him, and Haplo had to scramble to think of an excuse for the immediate revulsion he had at the thought. But it only made him more suspicious of the snakes; they had been manipulating him all along. Their baiting was becoming more obvious, whether out of fear or anticipation, and Haplo didn’t care, only knowing that he didn’t trust it.

So Haplo carried Alfred away from them, grateful that not much time passed before he began stirring. He glanced around fretfully, as if expecting one of the serpents to jump out at them.

“Are… are they gone?”

“What the hell were you trying to do?” Haplo demanded. He listened impatiently to ramblings about the dog, decisively cutting through the excuses to the true reason Alfred was here.

“A war between the Sartan and the mensch will be a terrible thing,” Alfred finally said. “And with the influence of those terrible creatures… you don’t trust them either, do you?” It wasn’t really a question, to his annoyance. He looked away, unable to focus with Alfred’s imploring eyes fixed on him like that.

 _A terrible thing._ As before, Alfred had managed to echo his thoughts. The snakes had taunted him for the way he’d come to care, and he still resented it himself, but it didn’t change the fact that there was only one decision he could have allowed himself to make. Still, it took him a moment and the dog urging him onward to say the words. “I’ve seen evil in the Labyrinth. I’ve never seen anything like that.” Haplo turned back to Alfred. “Warn your people. I’ll warn mine. These dragons will destroy all of the worlds if we don’t.”

Alfred paled, but nodded. “Yes. I’ve sensed that, too. I’ll talk to Samah and the rest of the Council. I’ll warn them—"

“As if we would listen to a traitor!”

And suddenly Samah had stepped into the mix, striding onto the beach out of nothing, eyes hard as he looked between the two.

Haplo offered Alfred a cold smile before training his eyes on the bigger threat. “Why am I not surprised? I almost trusted you, Sartan.”

Alfred, predictably, panicked. “I didn’t know, Haplo, I swear—"

“Quiet.” Samah shot a glare at Alfred. “I’ve been expecting this since the moment you told us your story, you know. You were able to keep it from the rest of the Council, but your words failed to hide everything. I suspected the truth immediately.” Samah’s voice was casual, but he carried himself on edge, eyeing the pair of them closely, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “I hoped that perhaps you were ashamed, that you wanted to turn a new leaf with us. But you’ve been watched carefully. For good reason, as we see.” Now, Samah turned to Haplo. “It must have been easy for you to seduce him, to draw him into your evil designs. Our people afford a great deal of respect to soul marks.”

Alfred made a muffled choking sound.

“What are you talking about?” Haplo asked, just to buy himself time. The situation had changed. The mensch, the war, Alfred: these thoughts were gone, overtaken by sudden recalculations. Could he capture Samah? Yes, he could, and the dragon-snakes, the mensch, Alfred, and the dog could be left behind. He could deliver Samah himself to his lord.

“There’s no use in feigning ignorance, Patryn. I’ve seen the mark in Alfred’s memories, and my wife confirmed it-- the right palm, yes?” For a split second, his words painted the rune into Haplo’s mind. Samah’s false smile did nothing to disguise his true repulsion. “But surely by now you must be regretting that fate has attached you to such a bumbling oaf.”

“Something like that,” Haplo sneered. Alfred was still standing next to him, stuttering something, but Haplo wasn’t listening. The damn rune didn’t matter anymore. He would capture Samah, he had already made the decision, except... it would take a fight, and Haplo could feel the dragon-snakes eagerly waiting for just that. And so he gave Samah a chance. “We have a common enemy now. Go back to your people and warn them, and I’ll go back to mine.”

“I’m not going back without you as my prisoner.”

Haplo shook his head. “That won’t happen. You’d be playing right into their hands. They want us to fight.” But even before he said it, he knew the dragon-snakes would be getting their wish in the end. Samah would not back down, and the snakes would destroy them all.

It would be the least he could do to destroy Samah first.


	18. A Fatal Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Haplo opened his eyes, damp with seawater, locked in a Sartan house, and greeted by a very ragged-looking Alfred.

Haplo had never been so slow to wake; like most Patryns, he was a light sleeper by necessity. But this sleep was different, as if he was submerged in Chelestra’s ocean again, slowly floating to the surface.

Memories drifted back to him just as slowly. Sand underneath his hands, the cold metal of the chains Samah had placed on him. Screams: young, desperate, helpless. The foolish mensch children that he had come to care for, somehow. A rush of panic, real fear for their lives, the need to protect them.

Chains breaking. A voice calling his name, a hand offered freely to him, reminding him for all the world of someone else he had once depended on, someone he’d loved. Her voice echoed in his words: _Help them._

It wasn’t dark, flashing eyes that met his, but clear, vibrantly blue ones. Behind him, Samah hurled his accusations, but Alfred’s eyes were calm. Confident, even, and difficult to look away from, except that the rush of gratitude was chased away almost immediately by adrenaline, as he ran in the direction of the children…

They were running. Devon fell, and the other three refused to leave him. Sabia and Grundle stood by his side, trying to help him up. There were the snakes, closing in. Alake, who stepped forward, bravely, stupidly placing herself between her friends and the dragon-snakes.

She did not die quickly. There was time for her to scream, time for Grundle to run ahead, desperate for any chance to save her. Finally, Alake was silent, and it was Sabia who cried out in agonizing pain as the mark on her skin dimmed.

Fighting an impossible fight. The snake's poison, coursing through his body. Haplo, falling.

The dog’s bark, and Sabia and Devon’s exclamations. Another dragon filling Haplo’s vision, flinging the serpents back, its emerald scales glinting with strength. Beautiful. Powerful. Its voice was a comfort that reverberated through his very soul, something felt rather than heard.

The beach again: Devon and Sabia clinging to each other and to him. Grundle running up, tears in her eyes, hand over her heart. Far away, someone else clutched their wrist, mourning a person they’d never get to meet.

Alfred joined them. Samah followed.

At last, Haplo opened his eyes, damp with seawater, locked in a Sartan house, and greeted by a very ragged-looking Alfred.

“Are you in pain?” was the first thing Alfred asked, not quite meeting his eyes. He explained, very quickly, how he’d healed Haplo, and then, because he was Alfred, apologized for it.

Haplo muttered his thanks, and Alfred’s eyes widened with shock. Alfred had expected him to be angry, and it took only a glance at his gloved hands to remember why.

It was an unpleasant lurch of a realization, but somehow it didn’t come with rage or rejection. Maybe it was because he was too tired to feel much of anything, or maybe some part of him had already accepted the truth, deep down.

Avoiding his gaze, Alfred caught him up on their situation. If Haplo's eyes kept flicking to his hand, if Alfred was just a little more nervous than usual, neither of them said anything about it.

“Today is the day they decide what to do with us, isn’t it?”

Alfred paused. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he admitted, and the absurdity of it made Haplo laugh so hard he felt tears in his eyes. The second time that had happened, he thought.

“Well, what can they do to you, make you promise to be a good boy, stay away from the nasty Patryn?” The corners of his mouth turned up as Alfred flushed a vibrant crimson, but still, the worry didn’t leave the Sartan's face.

At that moment, the door opened, and they were interrupted by the entrance of a Sartan woman, tailed by three children. Only three, Haplo registered, his heart sinking with the recollection: Devon and Sabia, clasping each other’s hands, and Grundle, standing tall, her voice urgent.

The woman and Alfred stepped aside, giving the rest of them at least the illusion of privacy. It was obvious enough that there was some kind of bumbling romance between the two. They almost certainly didn’t share a bond between them: the woman had a rune on her temple, one that looked familiar, in fact—and Haplo realized he had seen the same one during his duel with Samah. This wasn’t just any woman, then, but the wife of the most powerful Sartan of them all.

 _Leave it to Alfred to make things that much more complicated,_ Haplo thought, unsure if he was more amused or peeved, unwilling to examine the latter emotion too closely.

* * *

“Where are they sending you?”

“To the Labyrinth.”

Haplo didn't react at first, thought it must be a trick of some sort. Sartan in the Labyrinth. Who would believe that? Other implications would capture his attention later, but for now, he only felt a pit in his stomach as he argued with the man. He chose to blame it on anger, anger that Alfred was just giving in. He’d seen the Labyrinth in Haplo’s memories, he should know he had no chance of surviving there. And he wasn’t even going to fight it. After the capability and confidence Haplo had seen from him not so long ago, it was almost a betrayal.

He ignored the kind eyes that pleaded with him to understand. There was a comforting hand on his left arm that seemed to burn him, and he pulled himself away, feeling his other hand clench. So Alfred was just going to throw his life away. It had nothing to do with him.

But his ability to lie to himself had suffered greatly in recent days, and what he said was: “You’d better not faint.”

Alfred smiled wearily, and Haplo hated the way he always seemed to be able to see right through him. “I’ll do my best.”


	19. The Direction of the Right and Necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haplo wandered the Nexus, unsurprised to find himself lingering at the entrance to the Labyrinth.

After his audience with Xar, Haplo wandered the Nexus, unsurprised to find himself lingering at the entrance to the Labyrinth.

He was certain of two things. First: his warnings had come too late, and the dragon-snakes had won over his lord, just as they had won over Haplo on Chelestra. This led to the second certainty, one that was almost more frightening to Haplo: Xar was mistaken.

He had patiently swept each of Haplo’s arguments to the side, dismissed them completely.

“Do you not rely on me, Haplo? Or have you come to rely on another?” he’d said, his gaze flicking down pointedly.

Haplo’s eyes had flashed. “If you mean Alfred, Lord, you’re wrong!” He opened the hand at his side, turning his head down to glare at it. “I already said, this changes nothing. I am loyal to you, and I certainly won’t repeat my earlier mistakes. Anyway,” he added, calmer this time, “the Labyrinth is a death sentence, if that really is where Samah sent them. I doubt we’ll be seeing him again.”

But he could see that Xar wasn’t completely convinced. And what could he possibly do about it? He couldn’t continue to warn against the dragon-snakes without also speaking against his lord and appearing disloyal. And yet he couldn’t ignore them, either, not when he was the only one who could see what they were really doing.

Now, standing in front of the Final Gate, Haplo looked down at the rune again. It was still dark on his skin. He had been prepared for pain at any moment, waiting uneasily for the fading that would indicate Alfred’s death, but so far, there was nothing. It was a small comfort, but as he'd told Xar, it only delayed the inevitable.

Although, he thought, remembering that powerful, wonderful creature who had saved him on Chelestra, maybe not. Alfred always had managed to surprise him, if nothing else. Past the perpetual nervousness, he had latent talents and strengths all his own. Strange as it seemed, if there was anyone in any of the worlds who could help Haplo out of this situation, it was him. The kind, bumbling Sartan who shared his bond.

He held out his left palm, splayed it out beside his right. Two of them, both alive somewhere in there, and he couldn’t know for certain about his child, but it was just possible…

He had walked away from the Final Gate before, but this time was different. This time he knew he would be coming back.


	20. To Pass the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a certain symmetry, she thought: being given a choice between a lifeless, colorless prison or no life at all.

So there they were; together in the Vortex, and nowhere to go but certain death. Orla supposed it was merciful that they had even been given the option to choose. There was a certain symmetry in that, she thought: being given a choice between a lifeless, colorless prison or no life at all.

“There’s always a chance we could make it through,” Alfred had said early on, but it was halfhearted at best, and neither of them moved toward the Labyrinth.

Orla didn’t know how long they stayed there, the two of them. There was nothing to do but talk, so Orla told Alfred what she remembered of her life before he had been a part of it: wife, mother, Council member. She told him what the world had been like before the Sundering, confessed the doubts she and others had shared during that time and the remorse she felt now.

Alfred—or Coren, rather—told her about his life on Arianus, about Lya, how they’d subverted their society’s expectations without Alfred fully realizing what he were doing. He showed her the grayed mark on his ankle, and then, more shyly, the mark on his right hand: she had seen it once before, in incautious words belonging to someone else. The mark that she had betrayed to Samah, well-intentioned as she might have been.

“I’m sorry for that,” she said softly, holding his hand in hers. 

She had felt it when Samah died; she had woken up Alfred with her anguished cries, and he’d held her through the whole miserable process. The pain did not last long, but as it ebbed away, she felt her strength fading with it. His death and the mark’s fading shouldn’t have had that effect, but perhaps the loss was the final straw, the last stress her body could withstand.

Alfred shrugged, the motion stilted and miserable. “What else could you have done? I couldn’t have asked you to keep it from him. And anyway, he already knew it by then.” He glanced up at the mark on her temple, hard to see now that it was the same color as her hair, and seemed to wilt. He looked wretched; he could feel her life fading away, knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He could only ease her suffering. He did his best, and she was grateful for it, but it saddened her, too. There would be no one around to do the same for Alfred.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he was saying. “It’s because of me that you ended up here.”

She shook her head. “That was my choice, not yours.” She squeezed the hand she held, and Alfred held her hands tighter, regret not alleviated. “I should have made it a long time ago,” she continued, lost in thought. She might have been able to make a difference, back then, if she had been stronger. But there was nothing she or anyone could do about the past, and now, only one of them was likely to have much of an impact on the future. Orla looked once more at the hand she held and raised it to her lips, carefully brushing her lips against the skin before offering it back to Alfred.

Her voice came out as nothing more than a murmur. “What will you choose, I wonder?”

Alfred looked confused. He glanced behind his shoulder nervously, towards the Labyrinth’s entrance, then faced her again. He attempted a smile, too subdued to be genuine. “There isn’t a choice for me to make, anymore, I’m afraid.”


	21. Action and Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me,” Xar finally said, calculating. “Have you ever rune-joined with any man or woman, Marit?”

Marit was steadfast under her Lord’s gaze. She had nothing to hide, she who had proven herself loyal above anyone else.

“Tell me,” Xar finally said, calculating. “Have you ever rune-joined with any man or woman, Marit?”

Marit blinked. “No, Lord.” The rune on the palm of her left hand seemed to burn, but that bond had been there from the day she was born. Xar knew this, knew how she resented it; why would she want another?

“I understand your surprise, Daughter,” Xar said. “You and I have both seen how such runes mislead and confuse. They leave us vulnerable if we allow them to rule us. But, if _we_ remain in control…” he turned, retrieving a set of items from his desk: a jar of ink, a long bodkin. Marit’s eyes widened as he turned back to her. “There can be benefits to such a connection.” He lifted his hood, revealing the single blue rune on his forehead. “Will you rune-join with me, Daughter?”

Marit would never have dreamed of denying him. What better way to erase the bitterness and regret of the bond she’d been cursed with than this: creating one of their own, forging her own path with her own magic, serving her Lord with all of her being? There was nothing but pleasure, nothing but his power strengthening her, her magic flowing back to him.

“You did love Haplo,” Xar said when it had ended, and his gentle words filled her with shame. “We both did, once.” 

Marit’s senses were suddenly flooded. Her eyes closed and she saw Haplo below her, bowed in contrition. A memory, she realized, for the joining had tied them together even more closely than a natural bond alone ever could have. She watched through Xar’s eyes as Haplo was punished, taken apart, made to cry and beg for the end. She was unconcerned, as Xar, pushing him to the brink of death, and then she put him back together, feeling waves of satisfaction and fondness as Haplo once again belonged to her, fully and completely. The vision faded with a sharp tingle that travelled almost painfully up her spine. 

“It seems fitting, then," Xar said as Marit opened her eyes, "that if I find that Haplo must die, in the end, you will be the one to kill him.”

“Yes, Lord,” Marit said. She felt relief in knowing that he understood her; now, if Haplo needed to die, he would allow her to atone for her weakness.

“You share his bond. Yet you will kill him?”

“I  _ shared _ his bond,” Marit said, emphasizing the past tense. “It left me weak, just as you said. Your bond is the one I have chosen, my Lord. It makes me strong. If you command it, I will kill him.”

Xar examined her carefully, but there was no hesitation to be found. “You are wise, Daughter—Wife,” he corrected with a smile, and she bowed her head, overcome with emotion. “Wise where Haplo is foolish. I have seen his heart. He allowed himself to be enticed by our oldest enemy because of the rune on his hand. Now, for the same reason, he will trust you where he will trust no one else.”

“I will not disappoint you."

Xar turned his back on her, making his way back to the desk. “See that you don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to get to Marit's parts, not gonna lie.


	22. As Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred didn’t know how long he remained in the Vortex, not quite living but not quite willing to die, either.

Alfred didn’t know how long he remained in the Vortex, not quite living but not quite willing to die, either. It reminded him of the years he’d spent in the chamber on Arianus, but instead of Lya, he found himself thinking of Orla, of their last conversations.

_ What will you choose, I wonder? _

There wasn’t a choice to make, here. He could stay, safe from the world, the world safe from him. He could do nothing, even if he wanted to. Looking at Orla’s content face, thinking of the mistakes he’d already made, he wasn’t sure if he did.

Sometimes he would look down at his palm, seeing straight through white fabric to skin. He wondered about Haplo, wondered if his dog was still with him. He recalled the mensch children that Haplo had been so desperate to save, how they had hugged him and thanked him. Haplo was thoughtful when he spoke to them, when he said his farewells, and it was clear that whatever affection those children had for him had been reciprocated. Alfred didn’t know what had happened between them, hadn’t had time to ask, but he thought he would have liked to hear the tale. Now, he never would.

And then there were the dragon-snakes, growing more powerful with hatred and fear. And the Sartan must indeed be frightened, now, realizing how different the world had become in their absence, losing two of their most powerful members in short succession. If they hadn’t already, it wouldn’t be long before they clashed directly against the Patryns, led by Haplo’s unnamed lord.

Haplo had said he would warn his lord of the danger, but had he been willing to listen? Alfred thought of Orla, crying and hurting as Samah’s mark faded, and had his suspicions. And on the other hand, there was Ramu, who likely held the most sway over the Council now that his parents were gone, and he was not a man who was likely to let go of his enmity, either. 

The situation was bleak, to be sure. But no matter how many times he considered it all, he couldn’t change anything. It would be so much easier to simply stop worrying about it. Surely, Haplo and the others would find a solution. It was out of Alfred’s hands.

Until suddenly, almost too quickly for him to process it, it wasn’t, anymore.

Out of nowhere, there were others, three others, and a dog, all thrashing madly. They were about to die, and there were choices again, and for once Alfred didn’t hesitate to act. He saved all three of them, pulled them in after him, and it could not possibly be real, because there was Haplo himself, and Hugh, who was supposed to be dead, and the third, a woman who Alfred swore he recognized, though he could not attach a name to her face.

He spotted the mark on her left hand and understood, tucking away the revelation for later. He had spent too long thinking. For now, at least, there was something to be done.


	23. A Change of Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haplo was different than Alfred remembered him.

When Alfred had pulled Haplo and his companions into the Vortex, he’d been acting on instinct, with no time to consider the consequences. He’d tended to Haplo with a single-mindedness born of both genuine concern and the need to distract himself from what would happen when the man woke up. The best-case scenario, he thought, would be to be blamed for bringing them back into the Labyrinth and then promptly abandoned to his tomb.

But Haplo was different than Alfred remembered him. 

Not in a strange way, not in a way that felt like a different person entirely. He was still demanding and harsh as he ever had been, but that was not all, anymore. There was a sense that Haplo was now more balanced, more self-aware. Not quite whole, yet, but the facets of Haplo that had once been buried away were slowly beginning to emerge.

So Haplo had glared at him, flung cutting words when he had learned where he had brought them. But he had not left Alfred behind. Not only that, he’d actually insisted that Alfred join them. He’d actually admitted to worrying about Alfred, however obliquely. And it was a dangerously attractive idea, but beyond biting comments and frustration, Alfred could only conclude that his concern was genuine. Apparently even to the point of defending him against Hugh and Marit.

Marit. Haplo had once resented his love for Marit, for his child, and now he seemed to have accepted it.

The last point worried Alfred. He had seen the brand on Marit’s forehead and he suspected what it might mean. She had already tried to kill Haplo once; Alfred knew better by now than to be reassured by the mark she shared with him, but still, for reasons he wasn't quite prepared to fully articulate to himself yet, his hesitance to trust her made him feel guilty.

The confusing tangle of his own emotions aside, there was something about Marit that gave him pause. There was a resemblance, Alfred thought, to the stubborn man whose life he had first saved in Abarrach. She was full of potential for change, as much as Haplo had been. And unlike Haplo, she would have the support of someone who she had loved once before.

And she would fall for him, again. How could she not? 

They were crossing a chasm. To fall meant death, but they had to make it to the other side.

“I don’t want your help!” the Haplo from not so long ago had shouted. Alfred had stayed and helped him anyway, swearing at him in his frustration. Haplo had frozen in shock, then laughed so hard that tears shone in his eyes.

The scene changed. “I need you,” Haplo said now, taking firm hold of his right hand and helping him cross the broken ledge, and this time it was Alfred who stilled, Alfred on the verge of tears.

The risk of falling was real, demanding to be acknowledged, now, but for once, Alfred wasn’t afraid of it.

Change was possible. Alfred had seen it in Haplo, and he could see its beginnings in Marit. So, above all else, he would do everything in his power to allow them that chance. 

And if he could see that potential in them, maybe that meant there was some hope for himself, as well. That was all he really wanted, in the end.


	24. Fate Slides into Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time he had seen Haplo this weak, this hopeless, he had been poisoned and dying and begging not to be saved. He was lashing out, as he always did when he felt cornered. At the end of a frayed rope, trying to hold on to what he could.

_Turn around and go back to the Vortex._

Alfred shook his head, struggling to understand it. Haplo had insisted that he come, and now he was asking him to leave? _The Labyrinth will be happy to see you go,_ he had said. It would be easy, to run back to Orla and that perfect tomb, and die as he’d planned.

It would be easy, so why was every part of him rebelling against the idea?

He glanced at Haplo and knew exactly why. “You… you said you needed me.”

A bitter huff of laughter. “I lied,” he said simply. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. What I came to do is hopeless anyway. My child is dead, murdered in your prison.” He spat the last words as if they burned him.

Alfred cringed, but now he understood. The last time he had seen Haplo this weak, this hopeless, he had been poisoned and dying and begging not to be saved. He was lashing out, as he always did when he felt cornered. At the end of a frayed rope, trying to hold on to what he could.

“Go on, Sartan. Get out.”

But that— Alfred meekly giving in to his demands— wasn’t what Haplo wanted or needed. No, Alfred needed to confront Haplo’s doubts head on, and so he stood straight and spoke firmly. “ _Not_ ‘Sartan.’ My name is—“

“It’s not Alfred!” Haplo growled, instantly, inexplicably furious, and Alfred didn’t know quite what he’d done, but now Haplo was verging on hysterical. “That’s not your real name,” he snapped. “You’ve never trusted anyone enough to tell them your real name, and even after all this time you _still_ keep that damn rune covered.”

 _Oh._ Alfred’s hands reflexively moved to finger at the gloves he wore, abused and ratted in their journey through the Labyrinth. Haplo pursed his lips, turning away. Embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to say all that. Had it really been bothering him so much?

He hadn’t told his name to the other Sartan. Only Orla, his dear Orla. Still, the decision was easy, immediate. “My name is Coren.” It made him smile a bit, to see Haplo’s frustration freeze into astonishment.

Haplo hesitated. “That means ‘to choose,’ or something like that.”

“Chosen,” Alfred corrected, explaining with a self-deprecating shake of the head the meaningless name that had been given to him, a perfectly ordinary Sartan in every way except for his second soul mark. And then he’d woken up alone, when Lya and Mirian and Ivor and every other person he’d known and loved had died. Was that what he had been chosen for? The idea had haunted him.

“It wasn’t, of course. My name doesn’t mean anything at all. Just an attempt at a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

It could just as easily have been Lya. How many times had he wished for it to have been Lya to have lived instead? And what would he have given for Mirian to join her, so they could be happy together in a way they had never been granted? All because of the mark on Lya’s ankle, the only reason Coren had had the opportunity to befriend her in the first place.

Those marks had been more of a self-fulfilling prophecy than his name ever had, and so Coren had resolved to forget them both, taking a mensch name and covering his marks in mensch clothing. And he _had_ forgotten, for a time.

And then he’d met Haplo, and the memories had come trickling back, both good and bad. “I didn’t know why, at first. I knew you weren’t a Sartan, but I knew you weren’t a mensch. And then I remembered stories about the… forgive me.” Alfred smiled apologetically at Haplo, who, to his surprise, had been listening intently and without interruption. “The old enemy. When we were imprisoned in the vat, in Drevlin, I cast a spell on you, to put you to sleep.” Haplo blinked, clearly taken aback. “I crept over, lifted one of those bandages you wore, saw your runes. And… well.” Alfred looked down, removed the tattered glove on his right hand without ceremony, and offered it up for inspection, palm up. “That part was an accident,” he said quietly.

He tried to relax. There was no reason to be nervous, not really, but for a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears. Haplo didn’t say anything, and Alfred didn’t dare look at his expression.

“You… you never brought it up, after Samah,” Alfred finally said, hesitant.

“Neither did you,” Haplo replied, his tone unhelpfully neutral.

“I didn’t think you would want me to,” Alfred said, allowing Haplo to take his offered hand and compare it against his own palm. “I didn’t think it mattered much, anyway. I—“ He stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he repeated, the words echoing in his head significantly, his thoughts rapidly rearranging themselves into something entirely new.

“I guess it doesn’t,” Haplo said, oblivious to Alfred’s epiphany. “Fascinating as this has been, Coren, it doesn’t change anything. You’re still in danger as long as you’re here. You should—“

“No, wait! Don’t you see?” Alfred interrupted, and Haplo’s nose scrunched in confusion. “Haplo, I think I know what my name means, now,” Alfred tried again, knowing he wasn’t explaining himself well. He waited for Haplo to object.

He did, sure enough. “But it doesn’t mean anything! You just said so yourself.”

Alfred smiled, snatching Haplo’s hands in his own and shaking them to emphasize his point. “I think it does mean something, after all, at least to me. You’re the one who said it! Not ‘chosen,’ but ‘to choose.’ I’ve been letting others make my choices, or leaving them to fate. By falling and fainting and forgetting. But that was a choice too, in its way. Not fate; it was never fate! And the marks—they really _don’t_ matter.”

It had been the marks that brought Lya to him. But befriending each other, caring for each other, had been just as much of a choice as it had been for Lya and Mirian. He hadn’t chosen to wake up alone on Arianus, but the path he had followed since that day had been his and his alone. Orla had died satisfied, having made her own choice after allowing a mark and others’ expectations to lead her way for so long.

_What will you choose, I wonder?_

And then there was Haplo… Haplo, who had terrified him, who had been filled with nothing but hatred for him in turn. Look at how far they had come, and not because of the marks, but the choices they had each made along the way.

“They don’t matter, do you see? It was choice, all along. So now... I’m choosing to be here.” He spoke the words with a confidence that he had only felt a few times before, determined that Haplo understand. “I know it’s dangerous; you said it yourself, the Labyrinth is afraid. But not of me.” He shook his head, strangely exhilarated with discovery. “It was you, who _chose_ to return, not out of ambition or a thirst for power, but for love. The one thing the Labyrinth doesn’t know how to fight; don’t you see?” He didn’t give Haplo a chance to reply. “And you said you needed me, Haplo. So I _choose_ you-- I choose to stay with you-- for whatever help I can possibly be.” After all, hadn’t he already done that a million times over, before he’d even realized he was doing it? He glanced back down at their joined hands, and his last words slipped out almost without his volition, softer, less certain: “Mark or no mark.”

Alfred couldn’t see Haplo’s face, but he felt warm hands tighten over his own, and when he dared to meet Haplo’s eyes again, it suddenly seemed that they were standing much closer together than Alfred had thought. Haplo didn’t move away. His expression was difficult to classify, captivating in its intensity, and for one fleeting second, Alfred had the wild thought that Haplo was about to close the distance, the answer to a question Alfred hadn’t consciously asked.

A pointed cough startled Alfred back to his senses, sent him reeling, and he would have fallen flat on his backside if Haplo hadn’t already been holding onto him. Hugh’s eyes darted down to the newly ungloved hands that had just been clasped with Haplo’s, and Alfred felt a little bit light-headed.

“What is it?” Haplo’s voice was steady, if a bit cool, and Hugh raised his eyebrows before delivering his report without any other comment. And it was dismal news, indeed.

“She betrayed us, didn’t she?”

_Marit._

Haplo frowned, clenching and unclenching his left hand with a grimace. “Yes,” he said shortly.

In that moment, through his shame, Alfred swore he could hear Haplo’s thoughts: _No, marks really don’t matter at all, in the end._


	25. Nature and Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marit had never given much thought to her bond rune.

Marit had never given much thought to her bond rune. She had known what it was, of course, but her first eighteen gates had given her slightly more important things to worry about. Surviving. Fighting.

It was only the day that she stopped fighting that she met Haplo. Alone and despairing, ready to give up and let the Labyrinth take her, she had run right into him and his thoughtful smile. The presence of another person was what she had needed to put everything back into perspective; suddenly Marit was grounded, her thoughts clearer. He offered her food, shelter, and a plan. He made her laugh for the first time in far too long. He shifted near her, showing her how to braid the rope he had been making, and when their hands touched, they each noticed a familiar shape on the other’s left hand.

Neither one of them commented on it, but then, there hadn’t been a lot of talking, that night.

They never did talk about it. There was nothing to say. They travelled together, and it was the same fighting she had always been doing, made almost bearable with companionship.

Warmth at her back when she fell asleep. Newfound meaning in crossing each gate, now that there was someone to share pains and successes with. An extra set of eyes watching out for her, and Marit found herself diligently guarding his back in return. Haplo had never seemed concerned about the weak spot, there, that place between his shoulder blades that the protective runes couldn’t touch, but Marit never could forget it entirely.

Marit knew what she was doing was dangerous.

* * *

There had been a bonded pair in the Squatter group that had raised Marit. Relationships were usually as fluid as anything else in the Labyrinth, and the Squatters shared lovers with the same ease that they shared children, resources, and responsibilities. But these two were different: a set of strong, powerful pillars, never to be found far from each other, supporting their small group. The older one had taken to Marit, administering her lessons in the strict, unyielding way of the Patryns. She took meals with her, and would sit with her some evenings, when the older Patryns would tell stories that they’d learned from their old tribes. Barely eleven gates, Marit had admired her, always watching closely and unconsciously trying to emulate her.

And Marit watched the woman and her bond mate, the headman’s daughter, side by side amidst the other Squatters as they fought off pack after pack of wolfen. She watched the headman’s daughter fall, a sharp claw tearing into the one powerless rune on her abdomen, and heard her mentor’s enraged, agonized howl as she unleashed a devastating attack on the remaining beasts.

The woman who had been Marit’s teacher was gone, after that, a shadow of herself. Marit heard the others speak in hushed tones; that this was inevitable, that the Labyrinth would never have allowed such a bond to survive for long. Marit watched along with the others as the once-strong pillar crumbled beneath its own weight, becoming reckless and despondent.

Marit sat with her, one night, as the woman stared into the flickering fire with hard, tired eyes, as still as stone. She hadn’t spoken in days, not even to drill Marit in her lessons, but still she had sought out her presence.

She spoke, that night. “Should you ever find the person who shares your bond, child… ensure that you are the one who leaves.” Marit felt a tingle in her small hand as the woman released a choked sigh. “Don’t be the one left behind.”

They went to sleep, not long after that. And when Marit woke up, the woman was gone. A few days later, it was clear that she wasn’t coming back, and Marit stopped watching for her approaching figure from the perimeter of the camp. It was inevitable, the others told her.

_Be the one who leaves. Don’t be the one left._

Marit left the Squatters not long after that.

* * *

Marit knew what she was doing was dangerous. She felt herself growing attached, becoming dependent on another person, and when he was taken away from her, she would be the one to feel the pain of it. And then she became pregnant, and there was another person depending on her even more than he did. Something else that would only hurt her when she lost it.

So she left him, spent the next night with another man just to prove it to herself, and gave birth to the child alone. _Rue,_ she named her, giving the child her first rune, and then left her, too. She was alone again, as she had chosen for herself. She fought her way through the Labyrinth, and there was no more warmth at night, no more grim laughter, but at least this way her back was the only one she had to worry about. The child was as safe as she could be with a different group of Squatters, just as Marit had been left by her mother.

Haplo was alive somewhere, and maybe Marit would someday see her mark fade away, but by then he would be a distant memory, and it would not have the power to destroy her.

* * *

Marit hadn’t thought they would meet again, especially under circumstances like this. She had pledged to kill him on their lord’s behalf. She was now the one Xar trusted more than anyone else, and his faith was not misplaced.

She watched Haplo closely and did not recognize him as the young man from all those years ago. That was good, she thought. It made her job easier.

She watched and she was incensed with his betrayal: working with mensch, befriending the Sartan. She had heard Alfred’s name, before, of course she had. Xar had told her everything, and she glared daggers at him as he greeted Haplo. He was relieved to see the man who shared his bond, that much was clear. Haplo looked much the same, and she couldn’t wait to kill him, he who worried about this cowardly fool of a Sartan over the man who had saved his undeserving life in the Labyrinth, who had given him everything.

Except that her orders then changed; she was not to kill him, but to win him over until Xar could see to him personally.

Except that Haplo had saved her life, too, and he kept looking at her with longing, and something deeper, too: the look that had scared her into leaving, all those years ago.

Except that he insisted on bringing the Sartan with them, despite the fact that he was worse than useless in the Labyrinth. Always so concerned with him, protective, even, and Marit hated it, didn’t understand it, wanted nothing more than to leave him behind.

Except that Haplo was right about one thing; the Labyrinth was afraid of the bumbling Sartan, for some reason. So he stayed, and she kept watching.

“You were going back to the Labyrinth?” Marit asked, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“I was going back to find you,” was Haplo’s explanation. “And our daughter.” He seemed sincere, but it had to be a lie. Xar said it was a lie, and Xar was the only foundation she need rely on. Her own thoughts didn’t matter; it was easier, that way.

Except that she let Haplo kiss her and felt guilty for lying to him. He risked his life for all three of them, unwilling to let any of them be hurt, even the mensch who couldn’t die, and it was absurd, but she was filled with reluctant admiration. She staked a claim on Haplo when another woman showed interest, though she knew she had no right to it.

“I’ve come to know myself,” he said, describing the mensch he had met on his journey, their faces appearing one by one in her mind. He opened himself up to her, reaching out first with the hand that bore the rune that had once bound them together, waiting for her to come back to him.

She was torn. But she didn’t reach back.

Xar told her to betray them at Abri, so she did. It was easier, that way. And it was easier, again, when Haplo finally said it out loud: “Lord Xar is my lord no longer. He is being guided by evil, and I will do all I can to thwart him.” She was consumed with anger. It was easy.

Except Haplo was right about the snakes’ treachery, too. Except she needed their help. Except she saved the three of them and fought by their sides. Except she was still loyal to Xar, and Haplo was still a traitor.

Except, except, except. She was in turmoil, caught and pulled between the contradictions, thoughts and feelings crashing against each other painfully.

“I love you,” Haplo said, and the look that had once terrified her only filled her with prickling shame. Xar’s rune burned on her forehead. She couldn’t say it back.

Still, she took him in her arms. She stayed by his side as they prepared for battle. Held his hand in hers as they waited for the storm to hit.

Alfred was there, too, and she could now see the marking on his hand, the one that Haplo’s palm was pressing into hers. Another thing she didn’t know what to think about. So she didn’t.

She thought of other things, instead. A warm, solid presence at her side. An understanding look shared between them. A hand in hers. For the moment, everything else was extraneous. They stood together, hand-in-hand, awaiting an uncertain future, and it was enough.


	26. So Much Organic Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasu explained the alliance that had been forged between the Sartan and Patryns who had been cast into the Labyrinth, how they had adopted many of the Patryns’ ways, including the characteristic tattoos that were the source of Patryn magic. How, through intermarriage, eventually those with Sartan blood could access a little of the magic themselves, and the other way around. Alfred clung eagerly to every word, the idea of such a world lifting a weight from his shoulders that he hadn't quite realized he'd been carrying.

At Vasu’s request, Alfred and Hugh joined him to prepare Abri for the incoming attack. Alfred suspected that Hugh knew as well as he did that the request was, for the most part, a pretense to keep the strangers under Vasu’s eye, but each of them had their own reasons for coming along, anyway.

Haplo had stayed behind with Marit, which Alfred was glad for. Seclusion was almost nonexistent while traveling in a group like this, but it was something they sorely needed, after all the emotional turbulence between them. And it was especially necessary now, after Marit took another step towards her decision, towards reconciliation. Neither Haplo nor Marit would waste the precious few hours of privacy they had.

All this was as it should be, and so Alfred was able to focus on his own tasks, though truthfully there wasn’t much that he could do to help. Near the outermost walls of Abri, the Patryns reinforced their offensive and defensive runes, gathered their weapons, and sent out groups to scout and prepare more defenses. These duties were performed with a swift, unemotional precision that Alfred had already seen many times over in Haplo and Marit. Before long, Vasu led them to the other side of the city, where the Patryns were sending children and others who couldn’t fight out of the city and into the mountainside.

The atmosphere here was different, though it was also familiar, in its way. An older boy with a squirming bundle in his arms led a group of smaller children ahead, his hard eyes scanning around them to ensure that no one was left behind. Three others barely as tall as Alfred’s waist gripped each others’ hands and nodded solemnly to an adult woman who knelt in front of them. A man stood behind her, his fingers brushing against her shoulder, and then a second woman, heavily pregnant, joined them, the three adults sharing a look between them, a final, wordless conversation before the pregnant woman led the children away. Alfred watched these scenes and many more like them play out before him, sharing in the fear and sorrow that the Patryns, old and young, did their best to hide.

“They’ll be safe, in the caverns?”

“Safer than here,” was the only reassurance Vasu could offer either of them.

Alfred nodded, praying it was so.

When they had done all they could do, Vasu invited Alfred to join him for a meal. Hugh hadn’t joined them, splitting off to study the rest of the Patryns’ defenses, and so it was just Vasu and Alfred walking through the city.

Alfred was pleased to have Vasu’s company; though he hadn’t known the man long, it spoke volumes that he had treated him, a Sartan, with nothing less than kindness. The Patryns afforded Vasu the greatest respect, and Alfred could understand why. This was a man who had earned the loyalty of the Patryns, not through brute force, but through a subtler kind of strength, one that shone brightly.

They spoke only a few words as Vasu prepared their meal, and though Alfred still felt a little sick with worry of what was to come, he tried his best to relax, at least for the time being.

So he had resolved, until the staggering realization that Vasu had delivered the blessing in perfect Sartan.

Alfred’s eyes flew open. “You’re a… you can’t be...?”

Vasu hummed, tilting his head with a smile. “A Sartan?” Alfred nodded weakly, and Vasu waved a hand, unperturbed. “About half, I think. It’s hard to tell after so many generations have passed.”

“Generations?” Alfred squeaked.

Vasu explained the alliance that had been forged between the Sartan and Patryns who had been cast into the Labyrinth, how the Sartan had adopted many of the Patryns’ ways, including the characteristic tattoos that were the source of Patryn magic. How, through intermarriage, eventually those with Sartan blood could access a little of the magic themselves, and the other way around. Alfred clung eagerly to every word, the idea of such a world lifting a weight from his shoulders that he hadn't quite realized he'd been carrying.

“Having a common enemy puts a lot of things into perspective.” Vasu finished, sighing heavily.

“I suppose so, but still…” Alfred hesitated, twining his fingers together nervously. Vasu was undoubtedly thinking of his people’s impending danger, but Alfred was still thinking of the past, desperate to know more. “The soul marks. Wouldn’t that have been a problem, for the Sartan?”

Vasu raised his eyebrows, considering. “Actually, that probably helped.”

Frowning, Alfred leaned forward in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“The Sartan always thought more of marks than the Patryns,” Vasu said, picking up his cup and slowly swirling the liquid inside. “They could hardly ignore the matches that started cropping up between them.”

“Between… the Patryns and the Sartan?” Alfred asked, astonished, as Vasu raised the cup to his lips. “Really?”

Vasu swallowed, regarding him with interest, the corner of his lip turning up just slightly. “Somehow, I wouldn’t think that would be such a surprise to you.”

Alfred flushed, opening his clasped hands to expose his palms. Alfred had been hyperaware of Hugh’s gaze after that… scene, earlier, but the human hadn’t said anything about it, apparently indifferent. When Marit herself returned, her expression was hard as stone when her dark eyes flicked to him, and Alfred had cringed, guilty. Still, he had not covered his hands again, and Haplo didn’t seem at all interested in asking him to.

“I… I thought I was alone,” he confessed. His search with Iridal hadn’t been so long ago. It had been familiar, scouring Arianus, tearing through all the books in the archives, unable to find what he needed so desperately, all of it ending with the terrifying realization that he was alone in the world. “I searched everywhere I could, when I realized… but I never found any hint of a match occurring between a Patryn and a Sartan.”

“Well,” Vasu said, and his eyes were kind, understanding. “You didn’t search here, did you?”

“No,” Alfred said, shaking his head emphatically, feeling strangely close to tears as he smiled. “No, I didn’t.” He took a bite of the meal Vasu had had prepared for him, his silence contemplative.

“There were no marks between the two groups until they were forced together,” Alfred said after a few moments, thinking aloud.

“It is interesting, isn’t it?” Vasu mused, taking another sip of his drink. “The Patryns never did care much for the marks, not the way the Sartan did, but still, they used to be more common. Throw us in the Labyrinth, wait a few generations, and now you’ll find they’re quite a rarity. Not here, though.”

“Not here?” Alfred asked, puzzled.

“Not here,” Vasu agreed. “It’s still common, here, to have them. Even to have more than one.” Then he sighed. “Though losing them is also still common.”

Until he’d started actively researching them on Arianus, it had never occurred to Alfred to find it strange that the different races would have such different manifestations of marks. Considering it now, though, it made sense. Alfred thought of the Labyrinth, throwing everything it had against Haplo and the love he had brought with him. Against a force like that, was it any wonder the Patryns had become so disconnected with each other? It only made sense that the marks between them would all but vanish. Except in the city, a thriving community where the opposite phenomenon had apparently occurred.

Sartan and Patryns hadn’t allowed themselves to get close to each other, so there were never any matches between them. Not until they made that choice for themselves. All of it, self-perpetuating, even with the Sartan, who had been so proud of their singular marks that set them apart from the mensch and the Patryn. They each sought out a single, specific emotional bond, and that was exactly what they found. Well, Alfred thought, thinking of Lya and Mirian, it was what most of them found.

Different societies, different cultures, different marks. Some small element of fate, but one that was subject to change at every moment, as Alfred had already seen time and time again. One more intelligence to draw on, nothing more and nothing less.

“It was the Sartan’s idea to build a city,” Vasu was saying now. “They taught us the value of a community, and so we didn’t disconnect the way the other Patryns did. And the Patryns taught them the value of the chosen family. Creating strong relationships between individuals. In turn, the Sartan began to have more marks, too.”

Friendships, mentorships, all the different dynamics and relationships that tied the community together. The pictures painted themselves in Alfred’s mind, intriguing in their variations and the possibilities they represented.

“The two sides made each other stronger,” he concluded with a smile.

Sartan and Patryn, choosing to work together towards a common good, just like he had, and he still wasn’t sure what to do with himself, or the daunting idea of the so-called Serpent Mage that Vasu went on to describe, but maybe he would be able to choose that too, given time. He would try.

* * *

“I’m sorry to have dragged you into this, my friend.”

Alfred was overlooking the scene, watching the Patryns prepare for battle. Beside him, Haplo and Marit stood, their hands clasped, reunited for the moment. In the end, Alfred had been right to trust her, to trust them both. Now, as they found security and comfort in each other, Alfred found his own in them.

It took a minute for his thoughts to catch up to Haplo’s words. “Did you call me…” His words were quiet, and neither Marit nor Hugh heard him, absorbed in their own conversation. That was fine, though, for his words were only for Haplo, who turned to him, tilting his head in question, and Alfred hesitated. “What you just said. Friend.”

“Did I say that?” Haplo turned his head back, but he was smiling the quiet smile that Alfred had come to know and love. Alfred was flushed with pleasure, content with that. And then Haplo surprised him, as he always did. “Yes, Alfred, you are my friend.”

 _Friend._ Haplo reached out first, and then their hands touched, clasped each other firmly, no longer disguised with bandages or gloves, and Alfred’s heart was full.

“What else would I call you?” Haplo mused, a strange half-smile on his face, but Alfred didn’t bother dwelling on it, only thinking that this was all he had ever wanted or needed: the comforting presence of a friend to chase away the remaining fear. His palm pressed against Haplo’s, warm and certain, his mark brushing against the one that Haplo shared with Marit. She must know, by now, that Alfred posed no threat to her, though that hadn't stopped her from dutifully ignoring Alfred since rejoining them, which Alfred understood. Still, as the three of them stood there, he felt oddly optimistic.

He thought of the bonds that tied the city of Abri together; tangible proof that he wasn’t alone, anymore. The idea was as comforting as Haplo’s palm pressed warm and certain against his own. Patryns and Sartan, linked by fate and, more importantly, by choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ey look who finally hit 20k


	27. The Rose of Beauty on the Brow of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The once-impregnable city of Abri was surrounded.

The once-impregnable city of Abri was surrounded. Armies of enemies approached from all sides, the worst creatures of the Labyrinth working together to defeat a common enemy, just as the Sartan and Patryns of Abri had done so many generations before.

“This is…” Marit’s expression was stony as they looked over the edge of battlements, but she was betrayed by a flicker of fear in her eyes, illuminated by the glowing runes on her skin.

Haplo reached out to her, and their hands twined together tightly, drawing what comfort they could from the connection.

“Still,” Hugh’s voice added gruffly from Marit’s other side. “I guess I’d rather be here than that damned prison of yours.”

Haplo let out an amused huff, much more charitable towards Hugh now than he might have been a few hours prior. “True enough.”

Holding Marit’s hand, Haplo was the only one who noticed her shift uncomfortably. “I agree,” was all she said. It wasn’t much, but Haplo heard it for the apology that it was.

* * *

Only Alfred could possibly enjoy getting thrown in prison.

It was nearly impossible to judge the passage of time in the well, but it felt like Alfred had been babbling for at least an hour, completely enamored by the magic that had them trapped. He kept asking questions, apparently to himself, for his eyes were glazed over and he didn’t seem to care that his companions were doing their best to ignore him entirely while the dog walked anxious circles around the small space.

It might have at least been amusing if the circumstances had been less dire. Things being as they were, Haplo had only barely managed to restrain himself from snapping at him. As annoying as Alfred was, though, that would only make things worse: he would droop and apologize, Haplo would get his silence, and the only thing that would change would be that all three of them would be miserable.

So Haplo tuned him out, instead, wishing he at least had the magic to block Alfred’s voice out entirely, or maybe just force him to fall asleep the way Alfred had apparently already done to him, back on Arianus.

Fortunately, Alfred took care of the latter on his own. At long last, the Sartan sat at one of the pallets in the chamber, unintelligible murmurings becoming lower and more sporadic, and a few minutes after that, he had fallen asleep quite peacefully, his snoring thankfully soft.

Only now it was too quiet, Haplo thought, because all the concentration on shutting out the noise had been keeping him from thinking about everything else, how exhausted he also was, mentally and physically. Imprisoned by his own people, without his magic. And not only frustration, but hurt, betrayed by the woman he loved, as he’d _known_ was a possibility all along, but of course he had denied it, because if there was one thing he had always been good at, it was lying to himself.

Just sitting, waiting, thinking, and able to do _nothing_ while despair ate at him.

No wonder Alfred had barely seemed to mind, he thought bitterly, shooting a glare at the man’s sleeping form, for all the good it would do.

“I’m really starting to wish I’d just killed him back on Arianus, the second he found me and Bane,” Hugh huffed, his tone blunt.

It was the first time he had spoken since entering the well, and Haplo latched onto the distraction instantly. With neither intent nor ability behind the human’s words, he allowed himself to imagine it: the bond rune burning away before Haplo had ever known who was attached to it, just like he’d always expected it to.

It would have changed a lot, he decided. Ironic, given how Alfred had always tried to make as little of an impression as possible, but he had never quite been able to manage that, anyway. He was far too stubborn for that, and that thought almost made him grin, thinking of how Alfred would have denied it with enough vehemence to inadvertently prove Haplo’s point. It was a power in its own right; not even his constant fear could best the man’s incessant goodness. Tracking down Hugh and Bane in Arianus, saving Haplo’s life in Abarrach, standing against Samah in Chelestra. Now, here he was in the Labyrinth, captured by the enemy, because Haplo had needed him, and Alfred, stubborn to the end, had chosen to stay.

He watched as the dog ceased its aimless circles, settling beside Alfred and resting a furry head on its paws.

“Things would have been a lot simpler, that’s for sure,” he finally said, leaning back against the wall. The situation, as bad as it was, could still be worse, and the thought helped lessen the despair, just slightly.

“Between him and Marit, I’d say you’ve got your hands full.” Hugh’s eyes flicked down to the very hands he spoke of, then back to the slab of wall he’d been staring at.

None too subtle. Haplo raised an eyebrow. “Been holding on to that one long, have you?”

Hugh shrugged a shoulder, apparently indifferent, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

* * *

“It wasn’t so bad,” Haplo said, meaning it. Then there was silence between them.

The truth was, despite the hurt her temporary betrayal had caused, he had forgiven her the instant she arrived to free them. Marit would have known that even before Vasu and the others had given them a chance to speak alone; they always had been able to read each other well. The years had changed both of them, but there was still a familiarity about her. Just like when they had met, there was an unspoken understanding between strangers, the instinctive affinity that had enabled them to work so well together.

That implicit connection had been easy, and it had been enough to hold them together, for a time. But Haplo could see that it hadn’t been enough then, and it wouldn’t be enough now. Earlier, finally telling her the truth of his feelings, the time they had spent entwined with each other after, had been a start, but only that: a start. So he held her hand tighter in his and broke the silence. “I’m glad you came back,” he said, and it wasn’t all he could have said, but she stiffened slightly at his honesty and Haplo thought small steps were enough, for now. She was still conflicted, after all, and he would never fault her for it, because he’d been there, too, not so long ago.

After a second of hesitation, Marit relaxed, and her acceptance was a step in its own right. She would need time to adapt, but adapt she would; so quietly and subtly that one would barely notice it was happening. That quality of hers had had its own hand in tearing them apart, before, but it was also a part of her that would draw them back together.

The feelings were already there, only needing time to settle. It was like that with Alfred, too, thrown through a loop after being called a friend while Haplo’s thoughts raced far ahead, to the three of them, to Rue, if they could find her.

All in due time. It was time they might not have, he knew, but for now, at least, they were together, and their hands were warm in his, and it was that barest hope that he would keep fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haplo: We’re all holding hands and happy and we’re all three gonna raise kids together and stuff, isn’t this perfect? I love you both. (◡‿◡✿)  
> Alfred: Aha, I love you too, FRIEND! I’m so glad we’re all such great friends! *nervous laughter* I WILL NOT BE A HOMEWRECKER AGAIN.  
> Marit: Alfred who?  
> Haplo: Just perfect. (◡‿◡✿)  
> Hugh: *sigh* I’ll just go see if there’s anyone that wants me around, shall I?  
> Haplo: Yeah, you go do that.
> 
> And with that, we've finally reached the last book! Exciting stuff!


	28. Polarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This, she thought, was exactly why she hadn’t let herself love Haplo. This was why she had left. This was dangerous.

Marit sat on the floor of the ship, knees folded against her chest. There was nothing she could do but wait, nothing to occupy herself, nothing to keep her thoughts from drifting to Haplo, who had been torn away from her again. The rune on her palm was dark as it had always been, but she couldn’t forget those injuries, or his face as Xar took him away.

Her body was exhausted, but her mind would not let her rest, however she longed for a moment’s reprieve. She knew she needed to stay calm; it was ridiculous, pitiful even, how reckless and desperate she had become. Crossing the River of Anger, walking straight into the red dragon’s lair, weakening herself to heal a sworn enemy. She should have been dead. If she kept this up, she probably still would be, and yet she hardly even cared.

This, she thought, was exactly why she hadn’t let herself love Haplo. This was why she had left. This was dangerous.

_The beasts they had managed to hold off were only a few scouts in a hunting pack, one that would surely be heading for the Squatters. A village smaller than the one Marit had been raised in, but the Patryns there had given the pair of them rest for the night, shared their food, shelter, and conversation. Marit had watched five or so small children clinging at the legs of the adults, knowing it was too early for the lurching in her abdomen to be anything other than her imagination._

_“They don’t stand a chance,” Haplo observed._

_The voices of men and women calling out to each other, trying to organize a defense. Marit could see it all in her mind’s eye, had seen it before; a village in chaos, men and women watching as their companions were cut down. Haplo was right. Still, Marit didn’t turn her back. “We could go back. Help fight them,” she said._

_“We’d die with them. You know that.”_

_A fearsome roar in the distance. A child’s shrill scream. Marit gripped her spear tightly. He was right. He was right, so why was she so tempted to go anyway, to risk her life for these people for whom she could do nothing?_

_You know why. It’s the same reason you haven’t left him yet. The same reason you haven’t told him about the child._

_She knew then that she had to go. Not towards the Squatters, but away from them and away from Haplo and away from this child before she destroyed herself._

_This was dangerous._

On the other end of the ship, Alfred stirred. He had been trying to sleep as well, had needed it even more than she had, after the ordeal he had been through, but he was restless, as if afraid that upon falling asleep, he would find himself right back in the red dragon’s clutches. Knowing the night terrors the Labyrinth could invent, it wasn’t such an irrational fear.

Instead he sat, a ragged pile of limbs slouched against the wall of the ship, his face gaunt, his eyes tired. Although he was clearly still hurt, he had been quiet. Marit didn’t think he had been so quiet before the dragon, when Haplo was with them. It occurred to her that he was doing exactly what she was doing. Compartmentalizing. Swallowing the pain. Ignoring all thoughts but for one immediate task.

This was dangerous, she thought again. This was dangerous like leading the dragons away from Abri. Like escaping from a torture that no other creature had yet survived, exhausted, near death, only to immediately chase the Lord of the Nexus into Abarrach.

They were doing this for the same reasons. She knew that. She had felt the power, the triumph of being the dragon soaring over Abri, just as she had felt him crying out for Haplo, wanting him to be safe even more than he wanted to be saved himself. It was raw, and it was familiar, and she still hadn’t decided what she thought about it. But Haplo had told her to find Alfred, and she knew Alfred would help her save Haplo, and that was all that mattered now.

Alfred sat up, apparently giving up on rest as a futile effort. He glanced her way, saw her curled up in her little ball. He met her eyes with a tired empathy that she instinctively rejected, maybe because the understanding went both ways. It was too much like companionship; the gratitude in knowing that although they were miserable and tired and hurt, at least they weren’t alone.

Alfred didn’t say anything, at first, and neither did she. She had looked away, but she could feel those forlorn eyes still watching her. Then, quietly: “I haven’t thanked you, yet. For saving me.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she replied waspishly, casting the man a warning look. She didn’t want his thanks, didn’t want him to think they were friendly, now. “He told me to find you, so I did. That’s all.” She didn’t mean for the words to come out sounding so resentful.

And now Alfred was blinking, surprised, confounded even, like he didn’t know how protective Haplo was over him, how carefully he watched him, how much Haplo had trusted him even when Alfred was a useless, stumbling mess. And now she was bitter, thinking of Hugh’s knowing looks, of the rune that the Sartan now displayed easily. How was it that the man who destroyed everything he touched had managed not to ruin this one thing, while she did nothing but ruin it with every choice she made?

 _I love you,_ she’d said. _Find Alfred,_ was Haplo’s reply.

She glared at him, overwhelmed with anger and hurt and maybe Alfred misread it or maybe he read it exactly right, because he spoke gently: “We’ll get him back to you.”

She stared. Whatever she had been expecting, that was not it. His words carried impressions of her and Haplo, standing together in the darkness on Abri’s battlements, walking into the battle side by side while Alfred stayed behind, and it left no doubt as to his meaning. Still, she scrutinized him, finding nothing in his eyes but complete sincerity.

Her fury seemed to dry up, replaced with some emotion akin to bewilderment. Marit did not understand this man at all. Marit had threatened him and hated him and betrayed him, and here he was, weak from torture, after she admitted to only saving him because she had been told to, and he said this. She remembered what Haplo had said about the Labyrinth being afraid of Alfred, remembered being skeptical, but now she thought she could see why, because for a split second, she was terrified, too.

Alfred looked away, flustered by the intensity of her gaze. Misinterpreting it, which Marit was grateful for. She didn’t want anyone else knowing her thoughts until she herself had sorted them all out.

_“The Sartan did this to us,” Haplo said. “They’re responsible for this evil.”_

_The Sartan. Was it the Sartan who had made her this way? Willing to cast aside these people who needed her, Haplo who trusted her, the child that would be raised by another, all to protect herself?_

_Be the one who leaves. Don’t be the one left. The only logical choice. But a selfish one, nonetheless._

_“I wonder. Maybe it’s the evil inside us.”_

She had made the logical choice, then. The logical choice, and the selfish one. Being the one to leave only ensured that someone else was left behind in her place.

This time, she would choose differently. Whatever it cost her, Haplo would not be left behind.

 _Find Alfred,_ he’d said, knowing Alfred would help find him. For the first time, it occurred to Marit that Haplo would not have said it if he hadn’t known that Marit would want to find him, too. She took one last look at Alfred, then closed her eyes, indicating their conversation was finished for the time being.

They weren’t friends. Marit was sure she would never understand him. But they were both here for the same reasons. _That will be a bond between us._ The mark on her forehead ached as she recognized the similarity.

Except Xar, she thought dimly, would have made the logical choice.


	29. Thread of Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re going to make it,” Marit thought as they fought their way through Abarrach, and for a minute she allowed herself to believe it.

“We’re going to make it,” Marit thought as they fought their way through Abarrach, and for a minute she allowed herself to believe it. That they would find Haplo. That Xar hadn’t intended to kill him after all. That it was all a misunderstanding, that Xar hadn’t betrayed her people. That she would reach Haplo, and that they really would find Rue and be together.

It was just her and Alfred, now. They had left Hugh behind, had to lock him in the ship to keep him out of Abarrach’s deadly atmosphere. It was the only rational course of action-- Hugh was only a mensch, after all, and Alfred was much more powerful than even he seemed to realize-- but still, Marit knew who she would have chosen for a companion, all else being equal.

Because for all the raw power he possessed, Alfred was unfathomably reluctant to use it. It frustrated her; hesitance was a weakness that would kill faster than most in the Labyrinth, and it was one that would kill them now, if this Sartan couldn’t pull himself together.

His eyes were panicked, begging her not to ask this of him, because this creature, powerful as he was, would risk his life to avoid raising a hand against anyone, enemy of his people or not. It was a sudden, unexpected flash of insight, and one that gave Marit the answer she needed to convince him, for even if Alfred could accept the possibility of his own death, there was one that he could not allow. 

“This is for Haplo,” she whispered, urgent, and Alfred trembled and paled, but he kept fighting, too.

“We’re going to make it.” The thought echoed through Marit’s mind again, and then--

The pain in her hand was more than she ever expected, even after watching her mentor howl with sorrow and rage, even when she was with Haplo and realized that it might destroy her.

Next to her, Alfred cried out, too, each of them clutching their hands and knowing exactly what it meant. 

_ Gone, he’s gone, Haplo is gone. _

The pain was more than physical, tearing away the dreams she had only just begun to allow herself to entertain. The thought of a family, she and Rue and Haplo laughing. That quiet smile was gone, along with his steady presence at her side. She would never get to tell him that she loved him and hear him say it back.

It wasn’t so long ago that she had escaped the Labyrinth, where the only meaning of her life had been survival. She had never considered what she might do with herself if she actually managed to escape. She’d dedicated herself to Xar and his plans without a second thought, latching onto a new motivation. But that man had betrayed her, and the one person with whom she might have found something new to live for-- love, a family, a  _ life _ \-- was gone.

_ He’s gone. _

He had believed in her, after everything. Whatever else he had thought of her, he had never stopped trusting her to save him, to watch his back, and she had failed him.

Marit fell, the stony ground of the catacombs slamming against her knees. She clutched her hand to her chest, her eyes closed, and in that moment, she gave up. She really had lost everything, now.

“Marit,” Alfred’s voice was hollow, crushed. “We have to keep moving,” he said weakly, and why? He had come here for the same reason she did, and he knew as well as she did that it was hopeless now, but still he spoke, his voice as wrecked as she felt. “We can’t stop now, we still have to find him, save him--”

“Save him?” It was almost enough to make her laugh through the tears stinging at her eyes.

“We have to find his body,” he insisted, and Marit opened her eyes, saw Alfred’s pale face, the red rims around his eyes making the irises a shocking blue. He wrung his hands together, thumb rubbing over the mark there as the physical pain vanished, and she understood what he was talking about. 

The lazar, eerie, shallow husks of their former selves. Eternally suffering. Her lord had intended to turn Haplo into one of those hideous things. She couldn’t allow that. She looked Alfred dead in the eyes, swallowed her emotion, and nodded, once again embracing a new purpose.

They ran together, and Marit didn’t know how Alfred kept up with her as he muttered words between gasps, keeping the blue runes lining the corridor lit, leading them to Haplo.

They found him, already cold, perfectly still. Marit ran to him, clasped his hands, a sob of sorrow escaping her lips, mingled with relief that they had found him, that they were in time to save him from a fate even worse than the one he now faced. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, more of a breath than actual words. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know how long she knelt there with him, whispering words that were meaningless now, said too late. There was a commotion behind her, but Marit didn’t care. She didn’t look back until she heard her name, until a dog approached, touching her gently with its paw. She looked down at it, and it stared up at her with dark, sympathetic eyes that reminded her so much of--

She sobbed again, bowing her head, and felt the animal nuzzle her nose, trying to lick the tears from her cheeks. 

“He’s not dead.” She didn’t hear Alfred, at first, hardly registering him at all until she felt a hand clutching at her shoulder. “Marit, he’s not dead!”

Alfred had tears streaming down his face, too, but he was smiling, looking down at his hand. He dropped to his knees next to her, embracing the dog, and Marit thought he might have been driven insane with grief. She had seen it before.

He was babbling-- about necromancy, about the dog, and then, when he realized she still wasn’t understanding, he stretched out his right hand to her, showing her his palm. 

“The mark!” he cried. “It’s still there! My dear, Haplo isn’t dead!”

Marit pulled her left hand away from Haplo’s, looked down at the place where the bond rune used to be, not ready to see the symbol she had always resented dull and lifeless against her brown skin. She blinked. Wiped away her tears. It was still there, not grayed like that of her old mentor, but dark, as dark as it ever had been.

And then Alfred was telling her a story as fantastical as the ones the Squatters used to tell as night fell, about Haplo’s feelings somehow becoming the dog, how his soul was safe with it. It was crazy, but she latched onto the words and the images they conjured.

“He searched for you, you know. He loved you, but he couldn’t admit it to himself or to you. When you left, he grew increasingly confused and unhappy, until he realized that not even escaping the Labyrinth would please him.”

Hugh had said that if anyone understood Alfred, it was Haplo, but it worked both ways. As impossible as the rest of the story was, these words, at least, rang true. She let them wash over her, imagined it was him saying this to her. What she would give to be able to tell him that she felt the same, that she too had been afraid of all that their bond had implied. Not just the one branded on their skin. How she had taken her first steps into the Nexus and, for the briefest moment, felt lost.

He was alive, if her mark was to be believed. He was still fighting and surviving, and so were the Patryns that remained in the Labyrinth. And as long as there was still a chance they could be saved from Xar’s betrayal, so would she.


	30. Spiritual Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dam burst, and suddenly she was drowned in a strange flurry of emotion. She couldn’t recall opening her eyes, but she saw Alfred, his face painted with amazement, and, unbelievably, Haplo, standing in front of them, his eyes trained on her.

She was injured, dying, barely cognizant of anything around her, unsure what was reality and what was pain-fueled delirium. She clung to Alfred as he turned into a dragon, flying away from Xar, her forehead pulsing with pain. There were words, gentle yet urgent, shadowy figures surrounding her from all sides, and then there were Alfred’s hands holding hers firmly. She tried to resist, too proud to let herself be saved by the Sartan, but she was too weak, and the need to survive was too strongly embedded, and the world around her was fading to black.

_My death for your death. A part of me will die when you do._

And then, at once, there was light all around her. The pain ebbed away, and her fear was muted, never disappearing entirely, but calming into a gentle worry. It was comforting, somehow, and Marit was drawn to it on instinct, craving any kind of warmth.

A dam burst, and suddenly she was drowned in a strange flurry of emotion. She couldn’t recall opening her eyes, but she saw Alfred, his face painted with amazement, and, unbelievably, Haplo, standing in front of them, his eyes trained on her.

She reached out for him, hardly caring that this was impossible. Marit’s worry, her longing for Haplo, bounced between them, transmitted and amplified through some resonant medium. Alfred, she thought. He had been talking to himself, earlier. Talking to Haplo, apparently.

“You can’t hear him?” he’d said. Like she was expected to. She hadn’t known if he had gone crazy in his grief or if this was another strange magic the Sartan was working.

But she could hear Haplo now, could see him moving closer, unable to touch her, and yes, Alfred was doing this somehow. That was almost enough to make sense of this, of the feelings that continued to pour into her: concern, fierce protectiveness, something else that made her heart ache. A memory of hurting and dying on the cold ground of these catacombs that didn’t belong to her, despite its familiarity. Another flash of images, impressions of loved ones locked in glass tombs. Haplo's body, locked in its own. A surge of sickening, stomach-churning grief and guilt, smoothed over by a quiet wave of reassurance. Shared determination, unparalleled devotion.

_My life for your death. I will avenge your death, ensure that your rest is a peaceful one._

It was confusing, almost overpowering, the sheer force of emotions coursing through her. And then, just as quickly, the storm quieted, the feelings bouncing between them settling into gentle currents. Marit could focus on Haplo again. He was speaking to her, telling her she had to leave him, but she felt more than heard what he was saying. She sensed his fear, fear that was focused on her, though it extended to the Sartan who brought and held them here. Different complexions, equal magnitude. And she felt the love, strong and undeniable, that drifted in much the same way.

He couldn’t touch her, so he grasped his own hand, his thumb pressing lightly into his left palm as he looked at her, and Marit swore she could feel the caress against her own skin, the same as she felt his love pouring through to her. Haplo loved her, as much as he ever had. Perhaps, like her, he had never really stopped. She looked into the dark eyes that she had struggled to forget, locked with hers, and the small, private fear that had been itching away at her since they had been reunited finally began to ease.

She would not leave him behind. Never again. Her desperation and determination flowed through Alfred, resonated with his own emotion, amplifying the wave.

_My death for your life. I will give my life to save yours._

Haplo was begging her to leave him, and his worry for her was also enhanced, mingling with another source. Haplo wasn’t the only one concerned for her.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have made a difference that Alfred had taken her away from the danger, that he’d healed her, that he held her here now as best he could, wishing he could do more for them than this impossible thing. Between the two of them, Marit didn’t think she had ever felt this _much_.

What had she ever done to deserve that? From him, especially? She tore her eyes from Haplo to Alfred, and she was startled by how different he appeared. He stood, bright blue eyes warm and confident and powerful. Too soft-hearted for his own good, but good he was, almost overwhelmingly so. It was as if she was seeing him through someone else’s eyes, she thought, and when she turned back to Haplo, it was with a fuller comprehension of the heart she loved.

He was smiling at her, and Marit knew that, just as always, he was aware of the direction of her thoughts. She nodded, anyway. “I’ll take care of him,” she thought as the vision faded away, wondering if either of them would even hear it.

_My life for your life. While we live, we share each other’s lives._

Just as Alfred was taking care of her for Haplo. Still so strange, that a Sartan would do that, Marit thought groggily, slipping into her healing sleep. The pain and the poison returned, as well, and she shivered, and when Alfred smoothed her hair from her face, watched over her as she healed, she felt Haplo’s lingering presence in it. It was hard, dream or not, to be resentful of Alfred being able to hear Haplo when she could feel him like this, although Marit had to wonder if maybe that really was just Alfred being Alfred, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess they're all married now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	31. The Thing So Signified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alfred.” Coren, he knew Alfred would hear. The Sartan stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide with surprise. “I do trust you,” Haplo said simply, leaving no room for doubt. “I want you to trust me.”

Haplo stayed near Alfred while the Sartan lost himself in memories of the past, searching for a way to put an end to the chaos. For anyone else, it would have been impossible. Haplo could only trust in Alfred’s power, amplified by the concentrated energy of this room, the Seventh Gate, to manage it. 

Hugh was silent as they waited. Usual for him. Haplo kept track of the way he wandered the room, thoroughly engrossed in his surroundings: examining the doors, the runes on the walls, the table Alfred was leaning against. Less usual, he thought.

Alfred awoke.

There would be no way to bring the worlds back together, as they had expected. But Alfred sounded confident that he could close Death’s Gate. He turned to Haplo, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that Haplo had seen only a few times before. It was the same expression Alfred had worn when he’d saved Haplo from Samah on Chelestra, and later, when Alfred had told him his true name. 

Coren.

“I can cast the spell by myself,” he said calmly. “I don’t need your help, my friend. You can go back. They need you there. Your people and mine.”

Haplo met his level gaze, then shook his head.

Some of the confidence slipped, and Alfred looked chagrined. “You’re needed there,” he insisted. “I will do what has to be done. It’s best this way. I’m not afraid.” He smiled halfheartedly. “Well, not much.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Haplo said, his mind long since made up. He couldn’t have left Alfred to do this on his own, no matter the danger. And that was without taking Xar into consideration.

Alfred bit his lip, fighting some internal battle before shifting back to his determined stance. “Marit needs you, too. She loves you,” he urged. “You love her! Go back to her.”

Haplo pressed his lips together, wanting nothing more than to shake sense into the man in front of him. Knowing that he was being manipulated didn’t lessen the frustration any. 

Sensing an advantage, Alfred pressed forward. “My friend, for me to know that you two are together… it would make what I have to do so much easier. Please.”

“Don’t,” Haplo snapped, fixing Alfred’s pleading eyes with a glare of his own. Now wasn’t the time to get into all of that. “Marit can handle things where she is. I told you, I’m not going.”

Alfred wilted. His eyes closed, and his shoulders slumped. He took a slow breath. “I understand. You don’t trust me. I--”

“Alfred.” _Coren,_ he knew Alfred would hear. The Sartan stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide with surprise. “I do trust you,” Haplo said simply, leaving no room for doubt. “I want you to trust me.”

Alfred said nothing at first, blinking slowly as he met Haplo’s eyes again, and whatever he saw there made his features soften into a trembling smile, his eyes growing watery. He let out a small exhale, looking at Haplo with a fondness that ached.

“Do what you need to do,” Haplo said, wanting so much more than the moment would allow either of them. “I’ll stand guard, here.”

Alfred hesitated, realizing, perhaps, that something was amiss, something that Haplo was hiding. But he eventually nodded, trusting Haplo just as Haplo trusted him.

“I can do this,” Alfred said, determined, and the confidence suited him. He reached out, suddenly, offering his hand to Haplo. “Farewell, my friend. Thank you.” Alfred smiled. “For bringing me back to life.”

Haplo looked down, seeing the rune there, and he felt Alfred startle when instead of grasping the offered hand, he turned it palm up, letting his thumb brush against the skin there. “Thank you,” Haplo said, gaze still lowered, “for giving me life.”

Alfred’s hand shook slightly, and then his fingers closed warmly around Haplo’s, just in time for Haplo to pull him into a crushing hug. Alfred recovered quickly from his initial surprise, wrapping his arm around Haplo’s waist.

_ Farewell, Coren.  _

Alfred pulled away, nodding one last time. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked towards Death’s Gate.

Haplo turned to Hugh, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop from his position on the other end of the chamber . Now, he moved towards the door Alfred had just exited through.

Haplo stepped forward. “I wouldn’t go any farther, my Lord.”

Hugh eyed him, shrewd. A blink of an eye, and then he had disappeared entirely, replaced with Xar’s figure, his expression one of detached amusement. “You caught on. You always were clever, my son.”

Haplo said nothing, just stood between Xar and the door. Xar eyed him calmly, his voice steady. “So you truly intend-- you and this Sartan master you serve-- to shut Death’s Gate.”

Not so long ago, that would have been all it took to earn a fierce denial from Haplo. That was obviously what Xar had intended: an impulsive, emotional reaction, but Haplo was whole, now.

“I do,” was all he said.

Xar narrowed his eyes, changing course completely. “You will destroy your own people. Go back to Marit,” he said. “Find your child. She’s still alive. I know where she is. I can bring her to you, but if you do this, she will die along with the others.”

Haplo struggled to maintain his composure, but Xar smiled gently, sensing Haplo’s weakness just as Alfred had. Prodding that point should have been Xar’s strategy, but his eyes flit over Haplo’s shoulder.

“Alfred has tricked you,” Xar tried, and despite the calmness of his tone, the clumsy way he jumped from one tactic to another was as close to frantic as Haplo had ever seen him. “ _ I _ gave you life. Or have you forgotten? And it was mine to take back, if I saw fit.”

Haplo nodded. “It was.” He had pledged it himself, there at the Final Gate. A life for a life, that was how Xar had earned Haplo’s loyalty. That was how he operated, and it was something Haplo could understand in its own right.

But it was different than Alfred, who had saved Haplo’s life countless times and never asked anything in return. And it was different than Marit, who had made her own mistakes. Unlike Xar, she had done everything she could to fix them.

A different kind of loyalty than what he had previously experienced, more than Xar had ever allowed himself to know. “Love breaks the heart,” he said, disparagingly, and he moved to attack Haplo once again.

* * *

Haplo was not fatally wounded. He faked unconsciousness when Xar knocked him down. He watched the dragon-snake claiming to be Sang-Drax arrive, circling closer, anticipation and hunger flashing in its red eyes.

He could have done nothing. The positions reversed, Xar would have let him die here. He’d already proven that, time and time again.

Instead, Haplo jumped between the snake and Xar, and he was no longer feigning his injury. Around him, the world went black.

* * *

Haplo felt the moment he stopped dying and began healing.

_ Alfred,  _ he thought deliriously, but no, he couldn’t possibly have made it back yet. Haplo stood, fighting the pain in his forehead as it faded away. His vision cleared just in time to see Xar tear down the rune structure he’d built, just in time to see Sang-Drax crush him in his jaws.

“My Lord!” A searing pain between his shoulder blades made him cry out, and Haplo spun around wildly, thinking he’d been stabbed. There was nothing behind him, and Haplo fell to his knees again, the pain overwhelming, his vision spotting with black.

“The Lord of the Nexus is dead,” said the dragon-snake, ignoring Haplo’s pain. Haplo took the chance to recollect himself, the agony in his back quickly dulling to a sharp sting. Something he’d felt before, more dimly, through the eyes of Marit and Alfred: debilitating pain, closely followed by the memory of them discovering his corpse.

He had no time to be stunned by the revelation. He reached for the dagger, the only weapon he had left to him, and faced Sang-Drax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I actually wrote for this fic. I've sorta been hardcore avoiding it for months. Well, it exists now, and honestly that's about all I have to say about it.


	32. The Vital Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although the immediate danger had passed, the Nexus was a flurry of activity as Sartan and Patryn alike bustled about, struggling to regroup and adapt to the new world they had been dropped into so unceremoniously.

Although the immediate danger had passed, the Nexus was a flurry of activity as Sartan and Patryns alike bustled about, struggling to regroup and adapt to the new world they had been dropped into so unceremoniously. Marit was exhausted, drained from her own battles, the fighting and injuries, without any idea of what was happening to Haplo and the Sartan. Alfred. She had been overly conscious of her bond rune, dreading the moment she would feel that agonizing pain again, and this time the bond really would fade away.

When she saw Haplo, barely on his feet, bloody and broken but alive, she summoned the last dregs of her strength to run to him, wrapping her arms around him, supporting him when he rested his weight against her. She could feel the strong, steady beat beneath his torn heart rune. She had cried, then, right there in the middle of everything, resting her head against Haplo’s chest. She pulled back, unprepared for this torrent of emotion, and saw that Haplo’s eyes were wet, too, his smile just as tired as her own. He’d said her name: just her name, as if in all the world there was nothing more important.

She didn’t know what she’d said then, nonsensical words murmured between presses of lips. She only remembered his arms wrapping around her, as strength returned to his limbs. She remembered the feel of lips brushing carefully against her forehead, bringing the sting of tears to her eyes again.

The moment couldn’t last long, no matter how much Marit had wanted to stay like that, to rest from the turmoil.

They had found Alfred in a dead faint. He woke, disoriented, but his eyes widened in disbelieving joy when he saw Haplo standing over him, and perhaps Marit shouldn’t have been surprised that he looked just as relieved to see her.

Marit was still sure she would never understand him. But Alfred had saved her life, after all, just as she’d saved his. And he’d looked at her, holding Haplo’s hand safely in hers, and smiled like he had never been happier.

Marit wanted to say something, to acknowledge what he had done for both of them, but she didn’t even know how to begin expressing such a thing in words. So she rested a hand across Alfred’s forehead, helped him stand up, trusting the man to take her actions for the signs of gratitude they were. His smile softened, and he thanked her, and Marit knew that he understood. It was a relieving feeling, not having to explain.

So it was Alfred that she sought out now, in the mayhem of the Nexus. She found him with Vasu, pulled him aside while the headman directed his group of Patryns.

“Have you seen Haplo?”

Alfred looked around, as if expecting him to have been standing there the whole time. “He must have wandered off.”

It was unlike Haplo to sneak off when there was so much to be done. The pair of them had no luck at all finding him until Marit cornered the only Sartan stranger than Alfred himself. After several attempts, Alfred managed to wheedle out what passed, with Zifnab, for an intelligible response.

“Why, thank you,” the old man finally said, hands on his hips, addressing both of them. “But your princess is in another castle!” Then Zifnab grinned, pointing in front of him. “That one, to be precise.”

Marit sighed, but she and Alfred turned to see the building he was indicating. “Lord Xar’s chambers.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t disturb him,” Alfred said, tapping his thumbs together nervously as Zifnab wandered off.

Marit ignored him, already striding forward. When Alfred hesitated, she stopped, calling to him over her shoulder: “You coming?” Sure enough, a few seconds later Alfred had caught up, and they made their way in silence to Xar’s rooms.

They hadn’t been led astray. They found Haplo in Xar’s old study, sitting at the chair in front of what used to be his desk.

“Haplo?”

Haplo turned at the sound of the Sartan’s timid voice. “Oh. Hey.” He looked as tired as Marit felt.

“We lost track of you,” she said simply, stepping into the room.

Haplo nodded. “I needed a minute to think.”

“You’ve certainly earned that.” Alfred didn’t follow Marit inside, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. “Do you... want to be alone?”

He might have been referring to the two of them or just Haplo, Marit wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter; Haplo paused for only a second, considering the man and woman before him. “No,” he said, and then he smiled almost imperceptibly. “No, I don’t think so.”

Alfred relaxed at that, finally stepping into the study. For a moment, none of them spoke, and Marit savored it. After everything that had happened today, she almost hadn’t believed that there could ever be such a thing as quiet again.

“It’s hard to believe he’s gone,” Haplo said, deeply thoughtful. Marit nodded. Xar had seemed all-powerful, almost completely untouchable. In the short time she had known him, he had earned her fiercest loyalty only to betray it. It was surely even more complicated for Haplo, who had known him much longer.

“I saw him die,” Haplo continued, his eyes far away. He paused, and his next words were spoken with care: “Felt like I’d been stabbed in the back.”

Marit blinked, turned down her head abruptly to meet his eyes again. “You don’t mean…?”

Haplo nodded, his brows furrowed. To the side, Alfred opened his mouth, clearly confused but unsure if he should ask.

Haplo glanced at him, then turned away. “Three,” he said shortly. He opened his hands, looking down at the marks there. “I have-- or had-- three.” Alfred took a sharp breath, reaching the obvious conclusion. “It’s gone, now,” Haplo continued, looking at Marit and Alfred in turn. “I checked. He must have known about it from the beginning.” _And never said a word about it_ , was the unfinished end of that sentence.

“He said you were unwise to be ruled by your bonds.” Marit pursed her lips, remembering the vision she had seen, of Haplo in pain, the need to reclaim control. "I guess he took his own advice.”

Almost unconsciously, her hand drifted up to brush against the mark on her forehead. Xar had done the same to her: marked her as his own, used her to get Haplo back under his possession, discarded her when she was no longer useful for his ends. Haplo’s dark eyes followed the movement, guilt flickering in his expression.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. He shook his head, as if he was trying to clear it of unwelcome thoughts. He closed his eyes. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Either way…” he glanced back at Marit. “It’s faded now.”

Marit swallowed, feeling strangely close to tears yet again as she lowered her hand away from her forehead. When Xar had died, the tattoo there had burned her, too, leaving behind its own scar. Neither would ever disappear entirely, but still, they could heal together.

“Xar made his choices,” Alfred added, his voice lowered, and some understanding seemed to pass between him and Haplo.

Haplo nodded. “Yes, he did.”

A few more seconds of silence passed, and then Haplo inhaled deeply and stood, turning to face both of them with a half-smile on his tired face. “We should get back.”

Alfred’s expression echoed Haplo’s, and he stepped closer to the two of them. “No harm taking a break,” he said mildly, but he didn’t look surprised when Haplo shook his head.

“There’s work to be done,” he said, turning to Marit.

She nodded. Haplo looked just as tired as she was, but there was so much to do. She thought of it: her daughter in the Labyrinth somewhere, and the daughters of so many others like Marit. “We’d better get to it, then,” she said.

She felt Haplo’s warm hand on her shoulder before he kissed her, a brief peck on her forehead, and then he turned to Alfred, repeating the same gesture.

Marit watched as Alfred blinked, clearly taken aback, frozen in place. His face flushed, and his eyes flicked her way, caught hers. She had thought it was already understood, this thing between them, but here Alfred was, asking her for an answer, if this was really okay. She only had to think for a second before giving the slightest nod.

Acknowledgement. Acceptance.

Alfred’s eyes widened, his face somehow turning even redder. Marit felt the corner of her mouth quirk up into something like a smile. _Welcome aboard._

“We’d better get to it.” Haplo echoed her words from before, and he was smiling at both of them, and that was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU where they still have access to the Nexus after everything goes down, I guess. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	33. That New Piece of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day left no time for another discussion or even much sleep beyond a few stolen moments.

The next day left no time for another discussion or even much sleep beyond a few stolen moments. There was the threat of conflict between the various groups of Patryn and Sartan and the urgent need for a truce. The other immediate concern was logistical; entire cities of people had arrived in the Nexus out of nowhere, and all needed a place to stay. The small civilization Xar’s group of Patryns had built was nowhere near sufficient, and the already-precarious peace wouldn’t be helped by groups fighting for their space in the Nexus.

The three of them had barely seen each other since their rendezvous in Xar’s chamber. Marit had gone to counsel Xar’s group, hoping to exert whatever influence she still had over them, and Haplo and Alfred had done the same for the Sartan from Abarrach and Vasu’s group, respectively. Haplo finally managed to reconvene with the other two in one of the few quiet areas behind the library, none of them saying a word. Alfred leaned against the wall of the building, and Marit was warm against Haplo’s shoulder. Both of them looked like they could fall asleep on their feet.

“I’m going to find a place for us to lay down for a few hours,” Marit finally said, her chestnut hair brushing against his arm.

“Is that really okay?” Alfred asked, though Haplo doubted that even the Serpent Mage would be of any more use to anyone until he’d managed to get some real sleep.

“It’ll be fine for a few hours, at least,” he replied, rubbing at his eyes. Surely, _surely_ they had reached a point where they could have a night’s sleep without worrying about everyone trying to kill each other, and if not, well, that would have to be a problem for someone else to deal with. Marit stood up and made to leave, casting an expectant look back at them. Waiting for them to follow her.

Alfred blinked at her, uncertain, and Haplo closed his eyes briefly before glancing back to Marit. “Go ahead. We’ll catch up,” he said. Marit raised her eyebrows knowingly, but she nodded, leaving them in silence.

Haplo turned to face Alfred, who was still leaning against the wall, looking even more nervous, now, and Haplo knew that they were both extremely aware that this was the first time they had been alone together since Death's Gate had closed.

“You are staying with us, aren’t you?” he started, keeping his eyes fixed on Alfred.

Alfred hesitated, rubbing at his arm and looking off to the side. “If that’s okay, for now. I’m sure I’ll find a place for myself.” He pursed his lips, then glanced back at him with a hint of a smile. “I wonder if the library might have some spare rooms.”

Haplo hummed, remembering Alfred’s initial excitement upon seeing the Sartan archives that had escaped the destruction of the Nexus, but Alfred’s eyes lacked that eager sparkle from earlier. He wasn’t excited about this, and Haplo knew why instantly.

“There’s no reason for you to live alone, if you don’t want to,” he said carefully, and Alfred met his eyes again, unable to hide the emotion there. He thought of it, of Alfred, alone again: of course he hadn’t actually wanted that. “Marit and I already assumed you’re staying with us,” he continued.

Alfred stared at him, eyes wide with hope, though his words were cautious. “You mean…?”

Haplo shrugged, suddenly feeling incredibly, irrationally exposed. “If you would rather live in the library, that’s fine,” he said airily, not meaning it. “I just--”

“No, no!” Alfred interrupted, beaming, suddenly reinvigorated. “That’s great!” He practically leapt forward in his excitement, and Haplo knew Alfred well enough by now to grab onto Alfred’s hands before he could stumble over himself. “Sorry,” Alfred said reflexively as he steadied himself. Still smiling. “That sounds perfect.”

“Right, then,” Haplo said, forcing himself into nonchalance. He didn’t let go, and neither did Alfred. “Good,” he said again, just to break the deafening silence, but still, neither of them stepped away, and Haplo watched the realization settle over Alfred’s face: that they had been in this position before, that nothing was around to interrupt, this time.

“Ah,” he said weakly, and Haplo tried not to be disappointed when Alfred released his hands, moving back awkwardly. “That reminds me,” he started, color beginning to creep into his face. “I’ve been meaning to…” he trailed off, considering his words carefully. “I do want to stay,” he began slowly. “With you. You and Marit, both of you. No matter what, I want to help as much as I can.”

He hesitated, then, and Haplo crossed his arms. “But?” he prompted, feeling unbalanced.

“But,” Alfred agreed, fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his sleeves. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be… any particular way.”

Haplo blinked, and Alfred’s gaze was firmly pointed anywhere besides Haplo’s face. “Marit seems to think-- and you, too-- but everything’s been happening so quickly, and... I just don’t want you-- either of you-- to feel like you have to… It’s more complicated than that,” he continued, clearly uncomfortable.

Haplo narrowed his eyes, but it made sense, from Alfred. Familiar faces, still beneath glass. Fretting over lukewarm marriages, wives who only stayed out of some sense of duty. 

Still, he spoke sharply, irritated: “You think I don’t realize that?” His words painted a harsh picture: a cold smile, a name written in blood across his forehead. “And Marit understands that, too,” he added, quieter.

Alfred cringed, the color in his face draining, and Haplo almost felt bad for it, but Alfred just bobbed his head once, slow and hesitant. “Right.”

At least he hadn't apologized. He was still uncertain, needed just a little bit more of a push, but Haplo wasn’t quite sure what the right thing to say was. Alfred always was better at that kind of thing.

“You were the one talking about choices, before,” he said at last. “This is mine.” Alfred said nothing, just stared at him, his expression unusually and infuriatingly unreadable, making Haplo a little uneasy. “Mark or no mark,” he concluded.

“Oh,” was all Alfred said, softly, wonderingly, even. A tiny smile grew on his face, and Haplo thought he must have understood, because Alfred had always understood him, even before he had understood himself, but he didn’t say anything else, and his eyes were unfocused, far away, like he was lost in thought.

“And you?” Haplo prodded him, impatient, and Alfred blinked, finally looking at him properly.

“Me?” He seemed puzzled, as if he found the question completely surprising. Alfred shook his head, his smile becoming wider, almost wry. “You should know that, already.”

And he did: _I choose to be with you._ Haplo tilted his head, feeling himself grin. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Alfred said, and his blue eyes were shining again, not looking away.

Haplo leaned forward, just a bit, and he had the pleasure of watching Alfred register the motion, of hearing him take a faint breath before edging the slightest bit closer. He waited, making no attempts to hide his anticipation, and at last, Alfred summoned the resolve to close the last bit of distance between them.

The kiss was soft, as gentle as Haplo had known it would be, and when Alfred backed away too soon, Haplo chased his lips, recapturing them and pulling him nearer still. Eagerly, gratefully, Alfred accepted it, reaching out to Haplo in return, relaxing into him with a contented sigh. Even when they parted, he stayed close, hands lingering near his shoulders.

Haplo didn’t let him go, and for a few seconds, they just looked at each other, letting it sink in.

“Well,” Alfred said, unable to contain a shy smile.

“Works for me,” Haplo agreed, pleased.

Alfred made a delighted little sound, a half-suppressed breath of laughter. He shook his head, grinning fully, now. He looked like he was bursting with everything he wanted to say, but like everything else in this reforming world, they had all the time in the world to figure out how everything would work from now on. In the end, he said: “We should catch up to Marit.”

Haplo raised an eyebrow. “Not even going to look around the library?”

Alfred appeared even giddier, if possible, and Haplo figured he was thinking that had just been given more than he knew what to do with. Looking at Alfred, thinking of Marit waiting for them both, Haplo thought that he wasn’t the only one. It was a nice thought.

“She’s waiting for us,” Alfred said, echoing his thoughts once again. “Anyway, if I do that now, I don’t think I’d leave for days,” he went on, smiling at the thought of it. “And I really do need to sleep. And so do you and Marit,” he added, stern, as if Haplo was going to argue with that.

“Let’s go, then.”

Alfred nodded, hesitating for a brief moment. He pressed one more kiss to the corner of Haplo’s mouth before he pulled away, still a little red, but looking quite pleased with himself when Haplo caught his eye. “Let’s go.”

And so they went ahead to Marit, who took his hand and made a teasing comment about things being all sorted now. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough; everything else could wait until later. For now, the three of them finally settled into a well-earned rest.


	34. Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred turned the page of the book he was reading, enjoying the peaceful silence that filled their home. Marit had curled up on the cushion next to him instead of retiring to the bed, her breathing calm and rhythmic.

Alfred turned the page of the book he was reading, enjoying the peaceful silence that filled their home. Marit had curled up on the cushion next to him instead of retiring to the bed, her breathing calm and rhythmic.

A third presence entered the room, taking a seat on his other side. Haplo had been putting their daughter to bed, the first of many, and Alfred wasn’t surprised to note the thoughtful look in his eye. Haplo leaned against him warmly, and Alfred shifted to allow the closeness, thinking how strange it was how familiar that had already become.

Another drawn-out silence as Haplo sorted out his thoughts. “She’s not ours,” he said at last, his voice low. “I know that, and yet.”

“She’s as much yours as any child could be.”

Haplo nodded. “Exactly.”

“Hopefully we’ll do better, this time around,” Marit murmured. Apparently she hadn’t been asleep at all.

“You will,” Alfred said simply. Marit met his eyes, allowing herself to be comforted by his confidence.

“Coren,” Haplo said. Alfred hummed at the sound of his name in that voice, like a kiss against his ear. “She’ll be yours too, don’t you think?”

Alfred felt his heart swell at the idea, though he knew that had been their intention from the start. “Of course,” he said, his voice a little thick with emotion. Then he remembered the girl’s face upon seeing him, as well as his own remaining doubts. “If she’ll have me, that is,” he added, frowning.

“Hey,” Haplo said, smiling, his eyes focused on something far away. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t trust you when we met, either. Look at us now.” Alfred shut his book, fondness pervading him as he turned over his right hand to see the mark there. “She’ll love you,” he finished, meeting Alfred’s eyes, still smiling softly, and Alfred was overwhelmed with affection. “You’ll probably spoil her to no end,” Haplo added, teasing.

“Grandfather Alfred,” Marit said slyly, and she and Haplo were chuckling lightly, but Alfred was thinking how nice that sounded, how perfect that could be.

Here in this room, wrapped in happiness with his family-- the one who shared his mark, the one who didn’t, the both of them who had chosen him, regardless-- it seemed like it was, already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE! FOUR MONTHS OF MY LIFE OFFICIALLY COMES TO AN END!
> 
> Seriously, I know 30k isn't that long, but it's a big deal for me. Especially because this was only supposed to be about 20k when I started posting it. Same thing happened to my only other longfics. Anything longer than about 10k is just really difficult for me to manage, haha. So thanks to everyone who has read this and left kudos, and especially thanks to any of you who have commented. It's been real. I'll be at @deathgatesideblog on Tumblr if anyone needs me.
> 
> Also, since I haven't put this anywhere else, yet:  
> The title “To draw on all its omnipotence” and all the chapter titles are taken from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay, Fate. Is that pretentious? Did it make for some weird titles? The answer to both these questions is yes, absolutely. BUT, did it allow me to avoid thinking up all those titles on my own? Also yes. Thanks for the help there, Ralph. Bet you never thought your writing would be used to write fantasy slash/poly fic, did you? Ah, the world’s a funny thing.


End file.
